Gentle, Dangerous, Dreamlike, Bare
by AnneWithane
Summary: Haldir has been released from the Halls of Waiting and seeks to build a new life for himself in the Undying Lands. Legolas is forced to gather his family and take the Straight Road sooner than he planned. A new world and unforeseen events provide new challenges and opportunities in a continuation of the story begun in "Light and Flame."
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Obviously, anyone you recognize didn't come from my imagination, but from the amazing talent that belonged to Mr. Tolkien. No infringement or offense is intended._

_Summary: Haldir has been released from the Halls of Waiting and seeks to build a new life for himself in the Undying Lands. Legolas is forced to gather his family and take the Straight Road sooner than he planned. A new world and unforeseen events provide new challenges and opportunities in a continuation of the story begun in _Light and Flame_._

_Pairings: Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, Thranduil/OFC, Celeborn/Galadriel, Elrond/Celebrian_

_Note: Thank you, Diana, for creating the story image!_

"_**Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame."**_

_**~Henry David Thoreau**_

"_**Light can be gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, bare, living, dead, misty, clear, hot, dark, violent, springlike, falling, straight, sensual, limited, poisonous, calm and soft." **_

_**~Sven Nykvist**_

**Chapter 1: Change, Part I**

_In Aman…_

When the Lord of Mandos gave him the choice of remaining within the Halls of Waiting or donning a new body and stepping out into the Blessed Realm, Haldir did not hesitate.1 His spirit had grown weary of the perfect quiet and solitude of the Halls. He had come to long for the company of others, and counted among the greatest desires of his heart the wish to walk once more amid a thriving forest, to smell the fragrance of blossoms upon the air, hear birdsong, feel warm breezes waft past his face and lift his hair. He remembered the experience of patrolling the Golden Wood and feeling the life-force of the trees deep inside his heart. He ached with longing at the memory. When Haldir eagerly answered the question put to him, the Keeper of the Halls granted Haldir's desire and permitted his release.

Much to his chagrin Haldir found his new body stiff and unfamiliar, like a brand new pair of boots not yet broken in by repeated wear, even though when he glimpsed his reflection in a pool as he made his way down the long pathway leading away from the Halls, the face staring back at him was the same one he had always known. His features and limbs _looked_ the same, right down to the defined tone of his muscles, but they did not _move_ with the same familiar grace of the body he remembered. The one that was broken and left behind upon a parapet of that far away fortress.

To his surprise and delight Haldir found his parents waiting for him as he struggled to navigate the three short steps separating the garden surrounding the Halls of Waiting from the adjoining countryside. Tears immediately sprang to his eyes as they both embraced him while he awkwardly convinced his new arms to raise themselves up enough to hug each of his parents. The three of them remained locked in their embrace for long moments as his mother cried tears of joy and his father whispered quiet words of reassurance. As he soaked in their love and expressed his gratitude and joy at seeing them both, his emotions churned like a stormy sea. He was simultaneously happy and sad, for reasons he could not entirely explain, and he wondered if his emotions would now be as difficult to control as his new body.

His parents chatted happily about their lives and activities as they escorted him to their home. Haldir judged that the journey took more than a month to complete as they made their leisurely way from Mandos on the western edge of Aman to the large port city of Alqualondë in the east. If not for the moon's changes it would have been hard to say for certain because here in the Undying Lands time was not measured in the same way it had been in Middle-earth. In fact, it hardly seemed like time was measured at all. Perhaps it was the presence of the mortal races in Middle-earth that had heightened the Eldars' awareness of time. Here, however, days came and went with scarcely any acknowledgement aside from the aesthetic appreciation of glorious sunrises and sunsets so brilliant they took away one's breath.

From Alqualondë the trio set sail on a small boat, his father expertly skirting the northern edge of the island lying to the west of mainland Aman. Tol Eressëa's shoreline reflected its openness to the great ocean, rocky and windswept though an abundance of brightly flowering plants dotted the coast. When they finally reached the port of Avallónë, Haldir liked the seaside town immediately. Avallónë served as the first port of call for most Elves sailing from Middle-earth; and where Alqualondë was impressive in its artistic yet imposing beauty, Avallónë was more welcoming. The small city bustled with activity and cheer, with residents calling out glad greetings to one another as they carried out daily tasks. The sense of the place was not entirely unlike the city of Caras Galadhon, which Haldir missed acutely. He decided he would like Avallónë even better if it was populated with tall trees sturdy enough to hold telain.

The first time he stripped to bathe Haldir made a surprising discovery. His hands no longer sported archer's calluses. These new palms _looked_ like his old hands, but bore no signs of his years of sword training and archery practice. They were white and unblemished as though he had never known a day's work in his life.

When he stepped over to a mirror to examine his skin more closely, he discovered that the scars his last body carried were gone. Scars were rare among their people generally, for their kind healed from wounds that would be fatal to other races. Among the warrior class, however, it was more common for one to bear scars from the most grievous of injuries. Haldir had accumulated several marks on his chest and back during various skirmishes; yet his new skin was strangely unblemished, as though he had not lived the life he remembered with such crystal clarity.

The discovery made him sad, though he was not sure why he should feel that way. Still, he felt a bit _off_, a bit unlike himself, for as a warrior he had always regarded his scars as important tokens of lessons learned and victories won. They reminded him that he had faced and _survived_ important tests. They had been marks of his experience, of pride. To be without them felt a little like his previous life had meant nothing in the larger scheme of things. Perhaps his life had not been among the greatest of all the Eldar ever born upon Arda-marred, but he had always endeavored to live honorably, to serve others with dignity and purpose. He felt incomplete without the marks of his past life.

'_Who am I now?'_ Try as he might, he was unable to conjure a satisfactory answer.

When he mentioned his thoughts to his father, he found a small measure of reassurance. His father had been through the Halls himself, after all, and promised Haldir that with time, the feeling of disconnection between his mind and his new body would fade as his spirit and his new form fully integrated with one another. His father promised that while he would eventually earn new calluses, it was not the scars and marks that made an ellon or counted as the important symbols of one's experience; but rather the memories carried and the relationships renewed and strengthened because of his time in Mandos.

Haldir did not doubt the truth of his father's words for he could see the serenity and happiness that surrounded his parents like a golden sheen. So happy were they in the presence of one another that Haldir eventually began to feel like an intrusion in their home. It was wonderful to see and spend time with them, and he relished the happiness he felt emanating from them both, but the loneliness he felt only grew with time. He had always been so sure of his place – of where he belonged and what purpose he served within his community – but now, he felt entirely at loose ends. And so he bid his parents farewell and began a long, rambling trek across Tol Eressëa.

The farther he moved away from the shoreline, the more at home he felt. The island's interior was home to several vast forests, within which Haldir found the solace he so desperately needed. Some of the trees he recognized as being of the same kinds found in Middle-earth and all were beautiful, but his heart still longed for the Golden Wood itself and for the life he left behind there. In some ways he felt more himself as he wandered through the island's sprawling forests, yet his loneliness grew with each passing day.

The cover provided by the deep woods eased Haldir's self-consciousness about his lack of control over his new body. The ability to stand upright and move about had returned easily enough, though he felt somewhat clumsy and dared not climb any of the trees around him. The little things were the hardest to accomplish, for in many ways his new form fought to adjust to the instructions it received from his mind. Either that, or his mind was still adjusting to his new body – he was unsure which was the more accurate description.

It had troubled him deeply for his parents to watch him struggle to feed himself without spilling food down the front of his shirt, or tie his hair back without his mother's assistance. They each assured him that his father had the same experiences after his own release from the Halls, and that in time he would not only recover old skills, but acquire new ones as well. The promise of future grace did little to assuage his wounded pride, for he had always been a physical creature. From an athletic elfling he had grown into an ellon fully in control of himself and the world around him, with very few exceptions. To feel so helpless all of a sudden, like a newborn fawn who had yet to master its legs, was humiliating.

One day as he knelt on the forest loam trying to force his fingers to properly manipulate a flint in effort to start himself a campfire, he met an old friend, an ellon named Orelion who had served under him in Lothlorien's Forest Guard. Seeing a face from home – especially after several days of solitary wandering through the forest – gladdened Haldir's heart. He put aside his self-consciousness about his lack of physical prowess and happily accepted Orelion's offer of temporary lodging in the talan home he had constructed for his young family.

From Orelion he learned much of what happened in Lothlorien after the Battle of Helm's Deep. The fact that he had been unable to help repel the attacks from Dol Guldur irritated Haldir, but he was pleased to hear of his Guard's success. He asked after everyone he could think of, keeping Orelion up far into the night as they reminisced about people and events shared. Orelion's wife, an elleth born and raised on Tol Eressëa, retired early to give the two old comrades-in-arms time to become reacquainted.

It was during that conversation, and the several days of nearly endless fellowship which followed, that Haldir learned both of his brothers survived the War of the Ring and later went with Lord Celeborn to Imladris. He wished Orelion had been able to tell him more, but this news was more recent than any he had to share with his parents. Their hearts would be gladdened when next he visited them to tell them that their other sons survived the strife. Haldir missed his brothers acutely and wondered what kind of life each of them had carved for himself after the war ended, and whether or not they were yet making plans to sail. The three of them had always planned on coming to the Blessed Realm together in search of their parents.

Haldir hesitated before asking Orelion for news of Isilmei. After being told that there would be no summons for Isilmei, that her spirit would be lost if she faded, Haldir had no trouble taking on the task of convincing her to move past her grief and remain in the bent world until her ordained duties were fulfilled. He vividly remembered the last conversation he had with her, and he had meant it when he told her he desired her happiness, that she should open her heart to another if doing so would bring her joy. And yet, what if she had?

He had returned to the Halls secure in the knowledge that he had done the right thing and that letting her go was a choice he could find peace in if it meant she thrived. As part of that decision, he endeavored mightily to tuck her memory away into a shadowed corner of his heart and will himself to do as he had urged her to do. Yet when he thought of her, he was unsure how his heart would handle it if he learned that she had grown to love another.

When he finally forced himself to ask the question, Orelion could only tell him that the Lady Isilmei left Lothlorien with the Lord and Lady. It was reported that she had moved to Minas Tirith to join Queen Arwen's court, but Orelion could not say so for certain because he had grown weary of the bent world during the Ring War and journeyed to the Havens shortly after Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond took ship. Lord Celeborn had since joined his mate in the Undying Lands, but to Orelion's knowledge, none of the other members of their family had since journeyed West. Upon hearing his friend's answer Haldir sent up a well-worn prayer that her life had been blessed with both happiness and peace.

A week later Haldir finally departed Orelion's home to explore more of the island's forest. His friend had told him where to find a number of other old acquaintances, for a population of Galadhrim had established a colony of their own within a day's hike of Avallónë. Before following Orelion's directions he detoured out of the forest and down into the port town to replenish his supplies.

Avallónë was marked by cobblestone streets and modest buildings rising no more than three stories into the air. A mixture of crushed shells and mortar was used to construct the buildings and provided ample nooks for the brightly-flowered climbing vines that decorated most of the structures. In the distance Haldir could see what appeared to be private homes or small farms scattered up into the hills surrounding the town. Looking in the opposite direction, the ocean's vast turquoise and azure expanse faded gently into the horizon.

Haldir was aware of several curious glances from passersby as he ambled about town familiarizing himself with the arrangement of shops and homes. He overheard enough snippets of conversation to realize most residents of Avallónë spoke heavily-accented Sindarin. Haldir was glad for this discovery for he knew very little of the Quenya that was the primary language of Aman. Few in Middle-earth spoke the High Elven language by the time Haldir began his lessons so his knowledge of it was rudimentary at best. That Sindarin had become the common language of trade in Avallónë no doubt eased the transition of many to the Blessed Realm.

The afternoon sun was bright and warm overhead, seeming even more so after the morning breeze died down. Haldir decided as he passed a cozy-looking tavern that treating himself to a serving of wine and perhaps a bite to eat would be a pleasant way to escape the noonday heat.

The interior of the building was invitingly cool and shaded. An archway led to an outdoor seating area sheltered by a blossom-laden arbor. The wall to his left was dominated by a waist high counter similar to some he had seen in taverns run by mortals during his travels through Middle-earth. A row of stools lined one side of the bar and on the other side he saw a vast collection of decanters. The tavern was sparsely populated at this time of day – he saw only two other patrons sitting near the back of the room. He did not immediately see anyone who appeared to be the proprietor, but assumed someone would appear eventually.

Both inside and out, small tables were scattered so that patrons could dine privately or in a group as desired. The effect was considerably more intimate than the wide dining hall in Lothlorien where he had taken most of his meals for here there were no long tables and rows of seats where diners sat elbow to elbow. Haldir regarded a table in a shadowed corner, but chose a stool instead. He folded his hands in front of him on the counter and studied his familiar yet unfamiliar fingers as he waited.

He looked up, startled, when a wine goblet with a generous bowl and a long, delicate stem was placed before him. A strikingly pretty elleth stood facing him with an affable smile upon her lips. A long fall of dark hair trailed down her back, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. They were an unusual mix of both silver and blue the likes of which he had never before seen.

"Newcomers drink free," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Newcomers drink free." Her smile broadened. "I have not seen your face before, therefore you must be new. Therefore, you drink for free."

Haldir was taken aback by her frank manner and the curiosity in her eyes. Feeling awkward, he said, "Thank you, but I did not intend for you to offer me complimentary refreshment. This is a place of business, so I…"

"Yes," she said with a brisk nod. "It is most definitely a place of business. I congratulate you on your powers of observation." If not for the good humor twinkling in her eyes he would have taken offense at her teasing. "However," she continued breezily, "the 'complimentary refreshment,' as you so charmingly put it, is an investment on our part in the future. You see, we are hopeful that you will realize ours is the best wine available on the island, and will choose to return to us once you are settled in Avallónë."

Deciding it was easier to accept her offer than it was to argue with her or protest her gentle ribbing, he reached out to take the glass, horrified when he saw the shaking of his hand. Fine-grain skills were the slowest to return, he had discovered, and he was suddenly afraid to touch the glass for fear of breaking it, spilling the wine, and further calling attention to his difficulty. Since acquiring these new hands he had drunk from wineskins and wooden goblets, and a few times from simply lowering his face into a stream, but he had not attempted to handle something as fragile looking as the vessel in front of him. He stared at it for a moment as he tried to determine what he should do.

When he looked up he saw understanding flash in her keen blue-silver eyes. Before he could say a word, she removed the glass and turned toward the counter behind her. He shifted on the stool, intending to rise and retreat as quickly and quietly as possible, but stopped when she turned to face him once more. She placed a sturdy two-handled mug in front of him. "Newcomers drink free," she smiled gently.

He appreciated her consideration more than he could say, even though he was mortified that he needed the assistance she offered. He managed to nod his thanks as he slid his uncooperative fingers through the handles and carefully lifted the mug to his mouth. She watched expectantly as he sampled the wine's bouquet before taking a small sip. The flavors of peach, apple, and vanilla mingled pleasingly on his palate. The drink was crisp and perfectly chilled, a most refreshing summer wine. "Very nice," he said as he eased the mug back to the counter.

A delighted smile broke across her pink, well-formed mouth. His gaze lingered briefly on her even white teeth as he took in the pleasure evident in her wide smile. "Nice enough for a return trip to my family's establishment?"

"Most definitely," he said as an answering smile tugged at his lips.

She leaned companionably against the counter as he cautiously navigated the perils of taking another sip. "How long has it been since you were Returned?" Her voice had lowered in further indication that she understood his condition as well as his desire not to call attention to it.

Haldir blinked. "Returned? From where?"

"Since you were released from the Halls of Waiting," she clarified. "Around here those who have been through the Halls are referred to as the Returned."

"Why?" He felt his brow crease in confusion.

She looked up toward the ceiling as though searching the rafters for the answer to his question. With a shrug, she said, "I do not know. I suppose because with your release, you have been _returned_ to the realm of the living."

"Ah," he said, pretending that he understood. There was much about his new life he had yet to understand. "Nearly six moons have come and gone since my release."

"Your hands will become steadier with time," she said gently.

"So I have heard," he said as he fought to tamp down his impatience and frustration. "And heard."

"Point taken," she said before turning her back to him once again. When next she faced him she held a platter in her hands upon which rested a loaf of bread and a small butter urn. "So what was your work before?"

"I was a warrior," he said as he broke off a chunk of bread. It smelled delicious and was still warm from the oven.

"Hmm. Not much call for that here." As she spoke she reached out to scoop a generous dab of butter and spread it on his bread for him. He was oddly touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"I know," he said as he nodded his appreciation and took a large bite. His mouth watered at the taste, for surely this was the best bite of bread he had ever enjoyed – warm and soft in the center with a slightly crisp crust. Was it his imagination, or did food taste even better here than it had in Middle-earth?

She continued to watch him as he ate with a small, mysterious smile on her lips. "What will you do with yourself now?"

He shrugged, marveling at how easy he found it to talk to this stranger. "I do not yet know. All I know is the life I lived before. I protected my people and our forest realm," he explained. "I served under the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien. I do not know what to do with myself now."

A light of recognition flashed in her eyes. "I have heard of Lothlorien. The Lord and Lady were here not long ago."

His brows climbed toward his hairline. "On Tol Eressëa?" How he would love to have the counsel of his lord and lady. If they were nearby…

She nodded. "In Avallónë. Their daughter, Lady Celebrian, has lived in Avallónë since she arrived in the Blessed Realm. She and Lord Elrond created an estate just a few leagues south of here. They come into town several times a year and sometimes her parents come to visit. The last time they were here they caused quite a ruckus when all the Galadhrim from up in the forest came down the hill to see them. The town was so crowded that it was hard to get through the streets."

Haldir felt a flood of relief at hearing that his people were known in Avallónë as he smiled at the elleth. "You know of my people."

"Of course," she said as she lifted a hand to gesture at the room. "Everyone is thirsty at some point, and our vintage is the best." Her smile widened, its effects most flattering to her features. "It is through this tavern and our family's vineyard that my adar has come to know nearly everyone on the island."

Haldir found he quite liked talking to her – she was practical and kind, and her smile was full of good humor and just the right amount of mischief. Perhaps she could even help him reconnect with others he had known before his sojourn in the Halls. "Do you know where the Lord and Lady are now?"

To his disappointment her smile faded somewhat as she shook her head. "Not here." The gentle waves throughout her hair shifted about her shoulders. "I have heard that the Lady often visits her family on the mainland. I believe she had people in Tirion."

He nodded, his hope deflating that he would not be able to soon see them as he had thought. And yet he was glad that after so many long years separated from her kin, the Lady finally had the opportunity to go home.

His mood darkened abruptly, causing him to realize that his disappointment and loneliness were such that perhaps it was time he moved on. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for your companionship," he told her as he stood. "I should be going."

"You will be back," she said with assurance.

A smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he looked at her. "Indeed I shall."

Her voice stopped him as he neared the door. "Are you not going to tell me your name?"

With a half turn back toward her counter, he gave her a single nod. "Haldir."

"Yávewen." Her easy, open smile was back.

Bowing his head in a gesture of courtesy, he said, "Until next time, Yávewen." The name carried an unusual form to Haldir's tongue, but he quite liked the softness of the syllables and the way they blended together. He was unaware of its meaning but thought the sound of the name suited her well.

Over the next several days Haldir found himself returning to the tavern at the same time each afternoon. Yávewen made time to talk with him even when the tavern was busy, and always served him from the same ceramic mug. She gently coaxed him into conversation about his former life, and introduced him to several of her other regular patrons. As they talked Haldir sampled a variety of vintages, all of them good, and asked her questions about the family's vineyard and the process through which they made their wine.

He began looking for things to take her in trade for the wine and food he consumed. On two occasions he brought fish he caught in the stream above town where he made his camp, and on another he simply gathered up a bouquet of the sunny yellow and blue wildflowers that bloomed on the hillside. Her smile was so brilliant as she accepted them that he felt an answering smile spread across his own face.

The next day when she slid his mug across the counter to him, he spotted the gleam of anticipation in her eyes before he noticed the change to the mug. She had painted the first character of his name on the clay. He chuckled as he shook his head, delighted by the gesture even if he still felt self-conscious about his need for special considerations. Yet he suddenly felt as though he might one day belong in Avallónë, as though this port town might be able to provide him with a new home and new sense of purpose. The thought was comforting even as he chided himself for being silly. It was a simple gesture over which to make so much fuss. Yávewen was merely being a gracious hostess, after all.

"I was not always such a bumbler," he promised.

"Nonsense," she said as she reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. It was the first time another had touched him since he left Orelion's home. The contact felt surprisingly welcome. "You do better than you suppose."

"Thank you," he said softly. He was not eager to remove his arm from under her hand, so he carefully lifted the mug to his lips using only his free hand. He was delighted that the lingering tremor was barely noticeable.

She smiled warmly as she squeezed his forearm. "Newcomers drink free, but friends get their own mugs," she said with playful wink.

He laughed, very much liking the way the word 'friend' sounded coming from her lips.

TBC…

1In "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" from _Morgoth's Ring_, Tolkien clearly states that "A houseless fëa that chose or was permitted to return to life re-entered the incarnate world through childbirth. **Only thus could it return**…Save in rare and strange cases: that is, where the body that the fëa had forsaken was whole, and remained still coherent and incorrupt" (212). [Emphasis added.]

My guess is that Tolkien was not thinking of Glorfindel's tale when he wrote the above passage. I have read as many different takes on the idea of rebirth or reincarnation among the Eldar as I have been able to get my hands upon, and there seems to be some disagreement among knowledgeable Tolkien fans as to whether re-born individuals all get bodies or not. There are those who believe that some fëar re-enter the incarnate world as unbodied spirits, choosing not to go through a second birth and childhood but simply wandering about the Blessed Realm without bodies at all.

As faithful as I have tried to be to the tenets of canon, there are enough varying opinions on the topic of Elven rebirth and reincarnation that I have chosen to go my own way for the purposes of this story. Haldir chose not to experience a second childhood, but to re-enter the incarnate world as an adult.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Change, Part II**

_Around the same time, in Ithilien…_

Isilmei's eyes cleared of sleep's haze to see her husband kneeling in the garden outside their bed chamber. She realized immediately that the sight before her was not a normal dream because of the gauzy film clinging to the edges of her sight. It was a visual cue she had come to rely upon to differentiate visions from dreams in the years since her foresight returned to her.

Before her, Legolas's shoulders slumped in sorrow. She moved toward the door with the intention of going to him but found that she was not able to pass through into the garden – all she could do was stand and watch as he wept. For a long moment her eyes remained riveted to the sad figure of her beloved, but finally she noticed the trio of rose bushes before which he knelt. She should have noticed them sooner, she thought, because there were no roses of that sort in their garden.

Legolas reached out a long-fingered hand to touch the leaves of the larger plant in the middle. It was full of buds, some of which had burst into snowy white blossoms. Even though Legolas's attention seemed focused on the largest of the plants, Isilmei's gaze fell to the two smaller plants on either side. Both were delicate, juvenile plants in comparison with the other, and heavy with pink tea roses.

The vision shifted, and suddenly Isilmei no longer saw Legolas kneeling in the Ithilien garden. Instead, she peered through an iridescent mist that carried the colors of dawn. A great ocean lined with pearl white sands appeared before her. Tall sea oats waved from the dunes bordering the beach. Overhead, a gull floated effortlessly above gently breaking waves. Though the sight was beautiful and peaceful, her attention was not focused upon the water, but rather upon the figures of two little girls clad in white dresses that swirled around their ankles. Their bare feet peeked from beneath their hems as they darted toward the bird. They danced backward as the surf broke over their toes and splashed their skirts.

Isilmei found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the girls for though she had never before seen them, she knew them immediately. One of the girls had straight silver-blonde hair that wisped about her heart-shaped face, while the other had long tresses of waving gold bouncing about her shoulders.

The golden daughter had Legolas's mouth, complete with the small dimple at each corner. Her eyes were the shape of her father's, and the slant of her slim dark brows was identical to Legolas's as well. Looking at the other little girl was like looking back in time to her own youth, Isilmei thought. The silver daughter's gaze lifted as the gull soared out over the water. A serious expression darkened the little one's face and Isilmei realized with a start that the elfling met her gaze. The girl held Isilmei's stare for a moment before she turned back to her sister. Both of them squealed in delight and held up their arms when another gull flew past the dunes and swooped low over their fair heads.

Abruptly Isilmei found herself once more watching her husband stoop before those oddly placed rose bushes, his head bent in sorrow. She could tell by the tremor in his shoulders that he was crying and she realized with a start that the roses represented herself and the two little girls she had just seen. Legolas was mourning their deaths. Suddenly she understood the message contained within the vision – she carried not one elfling, but two, and if they were born in Ithilien they would not survive. Isilmei must leave behind her home and her life in Middle-earth to reach Aman before her time came.

A sharp spasm of pain worked its way up the front of her belly, causing her to wake from slumber and sit bolt-upright in the bed as her hands folded around the subtle swell of her stomach. Before she could cry out she felt Legolas's alarm through their bond as he reached for her. He gathered her close and whispered soothing words in her ear but Isilmei refused to be comforted. He had to understand the seriousness of what she had just foreseen.

"I have to sail," she said as she clutched him.

Legolas rocked her gently back and forth as much as their positions would allow. "Shh, love. It was just a dream."

"No!" She pulled back to see his eyes in the moonlight. "It was a vision. Legolas, I have to sail. Something is wrong."

Tension flared within him as he cupped her face in both hands and looked hard into her eyes. "What is it?"

"I do not know. I just know that I must reach Aman before my time comes. If I give birth here, we will not survive." She had never been more certain of anything in her life.

Dread stole across his handsome features and darkened his feelings through their connection. "There is something wrong with our elfling?"

She took his hands and brought them to her stomach. "Twins, Legolas. Girls. And they are in terrible danger. I do not know what or how, but I know with great certainty that if I am still here when my time comes, one or more of us will not survive the delivery."

Legolas's emotions shifted again as he decided on a course of action. When faced with a problem, her husband always felt better when he had a clearly identified solution to execute. "Then we will get you to the Blessed Realm." Reaching out to pull her back into his arms, he said, "I completed framing on a ship years ago so that it could be easily fitted out when we were ready for it."

Isilmei flooded their bond with her gratitude and relief. With a deep sigh she sank into her husband's arms, wrapping her arms about his waist as she began to relax.

"I must write to Gimli," Legolas said in a tone heavy with thoughtfulness. "How much time do we have?"

Isilmei pondered his question for a moment before she was able to answer him. She was not entirely sure, but she sensed no immediate danger to either herself or their daughters. The complications she was sure were ahead of her were still many moons away. "I am only three months along, so we have nine months1, minus the time required for the journey." Her fragile calm fractured as his words echoed in her mind. _"Then _we_ will get you to the Blessed Realm."_

Much progress had been made since the Elves came to Ithilien. Under Lord Legolas's leadership, vast stretches of Ithilien's forests had been restored to full glory. And yet there were still areas, especially to the north, where the dark taint persisted. Just a few days earlier her husband had told her about the foresters' efforts to purify the land and how difficult they were finding it to extract the poison of Mordor from the soil. There was no way Legolas could finalize his work by the time their daughters were due, so for Isilmei to go to Aman, she would have to leave behind her husband. He was needed here. Her throat closed at the thought.

She realized he must have sensed the swell of sadness in her heart when his arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "All will be well," he whispered. "I promise."

"Legolas, I…" She stopped when she choked on the words. She knew that she must find a way to let him go so that he would not feel obligated to leave behind all that he had planned for Ithilien to accompany her, but the thought of leaving him hurt her heart.

"Tell me, love." His desire to assuage her fears wrapped around her worried spirit like a soft blanket. The feeling would ordinarily have brought her comfort, but knowing that she was soon to be separated from her mate made the moment painful.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to say the words he needed to hear. "I am not asking you to come with me. You cannot make that sacrifice."

A spike of anxiety emanated from Legolas. He sat up and held her away from him enough to meet her gaze, his expression revealing his hurt. "I promised you once that I would not leave your side, and I have no intention of breaking that promise." His certainty was undeniable, regardless of the sacrifice that accompanying her would require of him.

"But your work here is not through," she said as she squeezed his hands. "I know you are not ready to leave behind all that we have worked so hard to build. I do not want to leave it either, but my choice is to leave or sacrifice our daughters." As she spoke Legolas's pain and confusion evaporated, replaced in his expressive eyes with understanding and warmth. She both hoped for and dreaded the notion that he was so easy to convince. "I know you need to stay, and I would even understand if you wanted…" Her throat closed again at the thought, so tightly that one hand rose reflexively to her neck before she could push forward. "…even if you wanted to keep Belion with you." She hated the idea of leaving behind her precious little boy, but could not bear the thought of leaving Legolas here by himself. If he had to stay, at least some part of the family he loved so much should be with him even if it would tear Isilmei's heart to pieces.

Legolas shook his head firmly before taking her face in his hands and kissing her. "Isil, you are my _wife_." His gaze captured hers, riveting their eyes and hearts together. "My world begins and ends with you and our young. I will not be parted from you. I will not make the same mistake my adar made." He kissed the end of her nose and favored her with a tender smile. "Orophin and Turwaithion are more than capable of taking over here." When he bent forward to kiss her forehead she could tell that his exceptional mind was already busy making plans. "We should speak with them before we announce our intentions."

There was no doubt that he meant every word he said for she could feel his sincerity and his certainty through their bond even as they were echoed in his voice and expression. An ember of hope flared within her that their family would be complete even if they had to leave these shores sooner than expected. "Thank you, Legolas. Thank you." She kissed his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead before pressing her lips to his.

A long moment later Legolas stretched himself out and pulled her to lie down next to him. He settled the blanket back over them both before wrapping her in his arms, one of his hands coming to rest protectively on top of hers against her stomach. She could feel his resolve, as well as the love he harbored for her as his mind began to drift toward slumber, and for the moment she was content to put aside her worries while her spirit floated alongside his in drowsy contentment. Tomorrow there would be many new tasks to perform as they began making their preparations, but for now all of that could wait.

Sometime later she heard the door to their chamber open and the soft padding of Belion's feet as he crossed the floor. She and her husband slid apart just enough for their son to climb between them and they both kissed his cheeks as he settled in. Their little boy was quick to proclaim his maturity, but there were moments such as these when his behavior revealed just how young he still was. Isilmei felt both Legolas's amusement and her own as they shared a moment of quiet joy at having their entire family – all five of them – tucked securely under the blankets and held within the circle of loving arms.

TBC…

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1"Laws and Customs among the Eldar," _Morgoth's Ring_, pg. 212.

"As for the begetting and bearing of children: a year passes between the begetting and the birth of an elf-child, so that the days of both are the same or nearly so, and it is the day of begetting that is remembered year by year. For the most part these days come in the spring."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Departure**

_Six months later…In Ithilien…_

Legolas walked through the rooms of his family's apartment, making a final check to ensure that everything they intended to take with them had been placed in the wagon. Their belongings would be delivered to the dock and loaded onto the ship in advance of their arrival so that they could sail as soon as everyone boarded.

Planning what his family would take with them had been nearly as arduous as preparing for the transition of power within the colony. It had been especially difficult for Belion to leave any of his possessions behind, even with his parents' promises that his relatives would surely supply him with new toys when they reached Aman. Dear Gimli had proven his worth once again as he stepped in to distract the boy with stories of the Three Hunters so that Legolas and Isilmei could see to the packing.

His wife insisted that she would handle the family's preparations so that Legolas could concentrate on finalizing plans with his advisors, but all could see she needed his help. As her pregnancy progressed, Isilmei weakened at an alarming rate. Legolas sometimes thought he could see her grow thinner and wearier right before his eyes. She struggled mightily to alleviate his worries and maintain her daily routine, but her body was unable to handle the strain. Just a few days earlier, she had collapsed as she worked in the Houses of Healing. The event steeled Legolas's resolve that she not be left alone, and from that moment he had been reluctant to leave her side.

He had written as far away as Imladris for advice. Elrohir, with whom Isilmei had grown especially close since Arwen's death, journeyed to Ithilien to examine Isilmei, but no one – not even Isilmei herself – had any idea what ailed her.

Her first pregnancy had been a time of great excitement and joy for them. Legolas recalled the sight of her blooming with health and happiness as they marveled over her swelling stomach. Each movement their little one made within her brought a smile to her face, even late in the pregnancy when Belion's sharp limbs had gained enough strength to cause her discomfort. Yet this pregnancy had been different ever since she received the vision which prompted their hurried departure. Legolas had not seen his wife look so fragile since she was lost to the Shadowlands, and it terrified him to once again face the prospect of losing her. He prayed that she would endure until they reached Aman and that someone there would be able to help her and their daughters.

Legolas shook himself out of his anxieties to take one last look around their home. The rooms looked empty somehow, even though most of the furniture remained in place and there were dishes in the cupboard. Legolas was surprised at how cold the apartment felt without the personal touches that spoke of those who had lived within these walls. He was accustomed to seeing books scattered about by his wife and son, Belion's toys, his own scrolls and clothing which he tended to lay down somewhat carelessly at the end of the day. His wife tutted after him as she picked up his discarded items to the point that it had become an old joke between them. Their apartment did not look like _home_ anymore now that all traces of his family had been removed. As he looked around the rooms and out into the garden he heard echoes of laughter shared and meals enjoyed within these walls. They had been so very happy here that it pained him to leave this life behind.

As he crossed toward his bedchamber he set down a satchel full of letters that had been pressed into his and Isilmei's hands over the last few days. It had become custom among their people to send notes to friends and family whenever someone sailed West. Even though they knew no replies would be received, it brought a small measure of comfort to know that news of life and happiness would reach treasured eyes.

Legolas had collected letters from everyone within his circle of confidants. From Orophin and Rúmil he had received letters for their parents and brother. Orophin had told Legolas in a voice thick with emotion that while he had no way of knowing whether or not his father and brother had been released from the Halls, he would like them to know of their lives if possible. Legolas promised Orophin, who had become like a brother to him, that he would see the letters delivered or safely kept until his relatives were released. Míril, along with Rúmil's wife Duvainil, sent along several letters. Míril had even pressed a letter into Legolas's hands that she asked him to give to Isilmei after they were safely arrived in Aman. Her gesture had touched him, for he knew that Isilmei had written a letter of her own to Míril that Orophin was holding until after the departure.

Surprisingly, stoic Turwaithion had been the most prolific of the group, penning missives for more than two dozen relatives and friends. Legolas smiled as he remembered the almost sheepish look on Turwaithion's face when Rúmil and some of the others laughingly suggested that he should take ship himself if he had so much to say. His old friend had insisted that he _would_ sail, but not until their work in Ithilien was finished.

Legolas appreciated Turwaithion's dedication more than he could say, and though he would never dream of admitting it to his wife, he felt a bit envious that his friend still had the ability to choose between sailing and staying. In spite of the lingering call of the sea, there was a part of Legolas that was not ready to go yet.

He had kept his word to Aragorn – the majority of the region had been restored to former glory. He had kept his word to himself in that he was among a group of close friends who watched over Aragorn and Arwen until both had passed, and had vowed to watch over their children in their absence. Eldarion was a good king and well-established in his reign, had married a wise and beautiful princess of Dol Amroth, and was father to two fine sons and a daughter. Each of Aragorn and Arwen's daughters was settled into a happy family of her own. By all appearances, Aragorn's legacy was secure. And yet Legolas felt the same protectiveness toward Eldarion and his sisters that he had felt when they were younglings. It was a feeling shared by his wife and it pained them both to leave the children behind.

Yet he was determined that he would not make the same mistake his parents had made. When his mother chose to sail West, his father had insisted that Legolas and his brother Ferion remain in the bent world. Legolas remembered being little and missing his mother intensely without understanding why she had to go while they remained behind. As he grew older, he blamed his father for his mother's absence, yet at the same time struggled with feelings of abandonment. How could a loving mother leave her young behind? He could not bear the thought that Belion or his sisters would grow up without either of their parents, and so he was determined to accompany Isilmei to the Blessed Realm whether or not he liked the timing of the trip.

Ferion's letter was the one among the bunch that caused Legolas worry, for it was perfunctory and full of details about the running of Eryn Lasgalen. It read like a report to the king and was absent any personal words to either of their parents. He asked his brother about it when Ferion pressed the letter into his hand, but his brother was noncommittal. When Legolas urged Ferion to make plans to sail himself so that their family could finally be reunited, his brother shrugged his shoulder and said he had yet to make up his mind whether or not he would ever take ship. Legolas knew how much his father preferred Ferion, and hoped their mother would want to see _both_ of her sons, but could not get his brother to give his word on the matter. He wished he knew better his brother's mind, but Ferion had refused to share his thoughts when he visited to bid Legolas and his family farewell. The ambiguity of the situation was frustrating.

He gave his doubts and regrets a firm mental shove as he pushed open the chamber door to find Isilmei sitting on their bed. One hand clutched a handkerchief while the other rubbed circles on her stomach. Her blue eyes were rimmed with tears, as they so often were of late. Legolas sighed tiredly. "Are they restless today?"

"My anxieties stir them," she said as she gave him a watery smile.

He sat next to her and rubbed the spot in her lower back that was always sore these days. "Try not to worry, love. I feel certain it will be a short, smooth trip, and then we will all be safe in Aman together."

She nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Gimli is entertaining Belion and his friends so we can have a few moments of privacy."

"Yes," he said with a smile. "I saw him walking toward the stream with at least a dozen young ones trailing after him. He is the most popular dwarf in all of Middle-earth, I believe."

Isilmei's expression softened into a fond smile as she thought of their dear friend. "He has found an audience that has not yet heard all of his stories."

Legolas joined her in a moment of mirth for there was much truth in her words.

Isilmei rested one hand on his knee as she looked around the room. "I love this place," she said in a wistful tone. "You spent so much time making this feel like home for me. The hours you spent carving our headboard, my talan in the garden. We made our son in this room."

"And our daughters in the garden pool," he said quietly as he slid his arm around her waist and hugged her to his side. "I shall miss it too, but we will make a new home in Aman. And I promise you that I will do everything in my power to see that you love our next home just as much as you do this one."

"You are so good to me," she said, sitting up to kiss his cheek. "I feel I have become a terrible burden to you, Legolas. I do not want that. And I do not want you to leave Ithilien before you are ready."

He opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head and pushed ahead.

"I think you should stay. You are leaving for me, and I have no right to ask you to make such a sacrifice." A fresh wave of tears crowded behind her eyelids as her worry and sadness poured into their connection, causing a painful thumping within his chest. "It will hurt me to be without you, but I do not want you to leave your work unfinished. I do not want the guilt I will feel if you accompany me."

Legolas had heard enough, and raised his index finger to her lips to stop her. "I do not understand why it has been so difficult for me to convince you of my resolve in this." His fingers slid across her jaw, down her throat, and into the soft wealth of her hair as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. "Surely you can feel my certainty through our bond?"

Her eyes lowered as a slight flush crept across her cheeks, her fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt. "I can, but I can also feel your regret."

He shrugged as he reached out to capture her busy fingers and raise them to his lips. "I have the same regrets you do, love. I will miss this place, our life here, our friends and family. We have been so happy in Ithilien. But I could not continue to be happy here without you, my beautiful goose."

Deciding that this might be the right moment to present the gift he had commissioned for her, he pulled a small silk pouch out of his shirt pocket and pressed it into her hand. He watched as her brow wrinkled in confusion as she unfastened the knot holding the pouch closed and slid the pendant into her palm. Ferion had provided the metals and gemstones from his own vault, and Gimli had labored to bring Legolas's design to life.

A soft gasp escaped Isilmei's lips as she lifted the necklace and examined it. "It is beautiful."

"Do you see how the gold and silver petals blend together to form the blossom that protects the trio of stones?" He asked as he lifted the chain from her hands and fastened the clasp around her neck. The pendant hung just above the swell of her breasts and his fingers rested upon the petals, her heart beating gently underneath his palm. He met her eyes as he continued his explanation. "This represents our family. We are separate pieces that form a whole, and none of us is complete without the others. I give you this so that when you doubt, you can look at it and be reminded of how I feel."

She covered his hand with her own and opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her by cupping her cheek with his free hand. "I had a long talk with Orophin last night. He said something that reminded me of you." Taking a deep breath, he gazed into her blue, blue eyes and spoke from his heart. "He told me that Ithilien has succeeded because I have been as an anchor to this realm."

Her pride in him showed clearly in her expressive eyes as she smiled and traced his hairline with her fingers, ending with his jaw and pressing the tip of her index finger to his lips. "I have no doubt of that, love," she whispered.

"Shhh…" he said as he kissed her fingertip. "This is not about me. You have not yet heard the heart of what I wish to say."

She smiled and pursed her lips together to indicate that she would not interrupt him again, though he doubted she would manage it.

"What I realized in that moment was that if Orophin's words are true, then they are so because you have anchored me. My adar always called me his 'windblown leaf,' for in my youth I was restless. I wanted new sights, new adventures, and was the first to volunteer for any task that would take me outside our borders. When I presented my plans for Ithilien, Adar was skeptical because he knew it was unlike me to settle in one place long enough to see my plans made real." He brushed a quick kiss to Isilmei's lips to still the protest he saw forming, for his wife had ever been prickly about his father's tendency to criticize. "But loving you has changed me, for the better I think, as has our work here. Your love and support, the sanctity and security of the home you have created here for us, have given me the foundation I needed to help the colony establish its roots." He took both her hands in his and squeezed them firmly. "Our lands and our people thrive because you have given me more stability and more peace than I ever would have had on my own."

"Legolas, I…I do not know what to say," she began. He worried when he felt her welling sadness, because he intended his words as a comfort to her, not as a hardship. "I _know_ how much Ithilien needs you. This is not when you intended to sail, and so if you need to stay, I understand. I…"

Comprehension dawned as he placed two fingers over her mouth to silence her, but tenderness dominated his expression as he continued speaking. "You are always so quick to think of the needs of others over your own, Isil. It is part of what I love about you, but I refuse to allow your selflessness to harm you, or our daughters." He paused to raise her chin so that he could meet her eyes. "What I am trying to say is that it is now my privilege to anchor you. I refuse to let you go through this alone, and I refuse to be parted from my wife and my young. We will _not_ be separated during our year of bearing.1 I could not live with myself if I knew that you were in a faraway land undergoing delivery on your own or that our daughters came into the world without their adar's love."

She wove their fingers together as they both fought to maintain control of their emotions.

"My place is beside you," he vowed in a voice husky with determination, "no matter what. It is true that I love this realm we have created, but not nearly as much as I love you and our family. From the moment I found you in the shadow world, we have faced every challenge life has brought us together. We will face this one together as well." As he stood and pulled her to her feet next to him, he poured all of his certainty and resolve into their bond so that she would have no doubt of his sincerity. "All that I hold dearest in this world stands within the circle of my arms right now, except for the boy who is no doubt discovering new ways to become very dirty."

Isilmei nodded and gave a tremulous laugh through her tears.

"Let me do this for you, love," he entreated as he looked hard into her eyes. "Let me stand beside you, and let us have no more talk of my staying behind while you take ship. Please."

He felt her acceptance and relief as she nodded and rested her head against his chest, tucking it underneath his chin and inching closer to him until their bodies were pressed together. "I am frightened, Legolas," she said in a small voice. "I am so worried about our girls. I do not want to go through this alone."

"You will not. Because I will be there." To Legolas it was no more complicated a matter than that. She needed him, and he would be there for her. It was what a good husband was supposed to do.

"I love you."

He lifted her chin so that he could again meet her gaze as he said, "And I love you, sweet Isil. With everything that I am and more than I have words to express. Let me anchor you. Let me support you as we face our future together. You, and our elflings," he said as he put a hand on her stomach, "are the beginning, the middle, and the end of me. There is nowhere else I want to be. Nowhere else I _should_ be."

She caressed the side of his face with silken fingers as he bent his head to seal their agreement as they always did, with a kiss.

TBC…

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1 "Laws and Customs of the Eldar," _Morgoth's Ring_, pg. 221.

"For all of the Eldar, being aware of it in themselves, spoke of the passing of much strength, both of mind and of body, into their children, in bearing and begetting. Therefore they hold that the fëa, though unbegotten draws nourishment from the parents before the birth of the child: directly from the fëa of the mother while she bears and nourishes the [hröa], and mediately but equally from the father, whose fëa is bound in union with the mother's and supports it.

It was for this reason that all parents desired to dwell together during the year of bearing, and regarded separation at that time as a grief and injury, depriving the child of some part of its fathering. 'For,' said they, 'though the union of the fëar of the wedded is not broken by distance of place, yet in creatures that live as spirits embodied fëa communes with fëa in full only when the bodies dwell together'."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Discovery**

_In Aman…_

In the months since Haldir's first exploration of Avallónë, he had made his intended trip to the Galadhrim settlement. Some of his former wardens and their families were attempting to establish a new Caras Galadhon in the heart of the island forest, but Haldir was saddened to find it too dissimilar from that for which his heart yearned. He felt no more at home, or at peace, among the Galadhrim than he did in his parents' house, for everywhere he looked he saw the shadows of sights and beings that were not among them. It was silly, he supposed, to long so for a life he could not reclaim, but he found he could not help himself. And so, he decided that he would make his home near the port town instead.

Avallónë had proven to be every bit as welcoming and pleasant as his first impression indicated. He constructed a small home near the coast a little more than a league south of town. His cabin was cozy, protected from the worst of the ocean's gusting winds by high dunes, yet close enough to the shore that he could hear waves crash against the rocky coastline at night. He found it a very peaceful place to live – remote enough that his privacy was preserved when he wanted it, but close enough both to town and to his parents that he could visit whenever the mood struck him.

The lingering awkwardness of his new body slowly faded as he forced himself to engage in new physical activities each and every day. He discovered that he quite enjoyed fishing and spent several hours each day casting a line or net into the ocean. Sea fish were quite different from the bass and brook trout he and his brothers occasionally caught in their youth, and he enjoyed the challenge of the hunt as much as the long stretches of quiet contemplation afforded by the exercise.

He smiled as he approached the tavern for he knew Yávewen would be delighted with the day's catch. Not long ago she had expressed a preference for a particular type of grouper and since then he had concentrated his efforts. Two long, fat fish, their scales gleaming brightly in streaks of green and blue, hung at the end of his line. They would make a fine meal for her family, and he knew that her excellent fish stew would be on the menu at the tavern for several days to come. It made him happy to feel useful again in some small way, almost as much as it delighted him to see the brightness of her smile when he brought her something that pleased her.

Haldir's thoughts were interrupted when he stepped into the tavern and saw Yávewen talking with an ellon. It was the hair hanging down the other's back which gave Haldir pause, for the straight silver-gold strands were of a particular shade that brought to mind yet another reminder of his old life. He did not realize he was staring until Yávewen caught sight of him and smiled.

"And here he is now," she said to the other ellon, "just as I predicted. Come, Haldir, join us. An old acquaintance of yours is in town and was just asking after the Galadhrim."

Haldir stepped toward the counter and felt his brows rise in surprised recognition as the other ellon turned. "Elurín, by the Valar, is that you?"

Though older than Haldir by more than an age, the other's lean face showed none of the weariness and sorrow that Haldir felt sure shadowed his own features. "Haldir, how good to see you! Our hostess tells me you are recently Returned."

"Yes," he said as he held out his catch to Yávewen. She accepted them with a smile of thanks and made her way to the kitchens located behind the tavern. He opened his mouth to say more, stopping to shake his head when he realized that he did not know which question to ask first. Since his release from the Halls, Elurín was among the first he had met other than his own father who had also spent time in Mandos. As he continued to struggle to find his place in this new world, he was curious to know how Elurín managed to look so peaceful and so overwhelmingly happy.

"My wife and I were released some years ago," Elurín explained as recognition and understanding flashed in his pale gray eyes. "You would have still been in Lothlorien, based upon what Yávewen tells me."

"I see," Haldir said as he sat upon the stool next to Elurín. "I am happy for you."

"If there are questions I can answer," Elurín said quietly, "I would be glad to be of assistance."

Haldir nodded his thanks. "Thank you. I have met few others who have been released." One particular question rose immediately to his mind. "Is it so uncommon for Elves to be Returned? I would have thought there would be more of us."

Elurín shrugged good-naturedly. "We are not alone, I assure you, but many who are released choose a solitary existence while adjusting to life in Aman."

Haldir had to nod as he gave his friend a wry smile, for Elurín's certainly sounded familiar. There were many days when he did not feel up to the company of others, preferring to spend his time fishing or napping or walking through quiet woods. He reached out to accept his mug from Yávewen's capable hands, his smile broadening as she grinned at him before withdrawing again so that he and Elurín could speak privately.

Elurín nodded his thanks to Yávewen as she stepped away. "Those of us who have been through the Halls find that we have experiences in common that others cannot share. There are plenty in Aman who fought in battles, but fewer of us who have fought, perished, and been returned to the physical realm. It can cause a rift among friends and family while the one who has been released settles into a new life."

"There is no call here for who we were before," Haldir said quietly. "No need for skills that took ages to hone and were the driving force of my life. I find myself lacking _purpose_ here."

Elurín nodded in understanding and for a long moment conversation lapsed between them as they each contemplated their experiences. Haldir found himself intensely grateful to have met with his old acquaintance this day. After a long pause Elurín spoke again. "Do you remember Lasdaer?"

"Of course," Haldir nodded. "He was a fierce fighter, an able warden."

"He lives several leagues west of here, but maintains his distance from others. His wife has yet to sail. He visits with my wife and me from time to time since we are the only couple he knows who have both been through the Halls and he struggles to relate to those who have not. He would appreciate seeing you and hearing how you fare. You must visit with us sometime."

Haldir raised his mug and accepted the invitation with wordless salute before asking, "How fares your lady wife?"

"Caladhiel is well. She is visiting friends." A broad smile spread across Elurín's long face. "She is better than well, in fact, for our daughter arrives today."

Haldir felt the breath leave his lungs as Yávewen appeared in front of them to refill their beverages. He was only barely aware of her concerned stare as he worked to regulate his breathing while the room spun around him. He finally managed to sputter two words: "Your daughter?"

"Yes," Elurín nodded happily. "We received word several days ago that she sailed from the bent world. We came to town so that we can meet her ship when it docks."

A thousand memories assaulted Haldir's senses and heart as he listened to the words and realized that _she_ would soon be in Avallónë. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the Valar had permitted his release in time for him to keep the promise he had made. He would be there when she arrived just as she asked. What would he say to her? How would she react upon seeing him?

"Are you alright?" Elurín asked. Some of his earlier elation had left his face as he watched Haldir's expression cloud over.

"Yes." He cleared his throat as he gripped his mug, suddenly too unsure of himself to risk lifting it to take a sip. "I knew your daughter well during her time in Caras Galadhon," he said quietly.

Confusion creased Elurín's brow. "We left her in Imladris. How did she come to be in Lothlorien?"

"Your great uncle took her in," Haldir answered, noting with relief that his breathing was returning to normal. If he tried very hard he might even be able to control the sudden tremble in his hands. "He and the Lady Galadriel raised her as their own."

"Ah." Elurín's expression relaxed until only a vague disquiet remained visible. For a long moment he sat lost in thought. When he spoke again his voice was soft with regret. "Well, I suppose he would do just as fine a job as my nephew in our absence. We so seldom come to town that I had not sought out Elrond for news of her. We have just been praying that she would one day come."

Haldir placed a reassuring hand on Elurín's shoulder. "I promise you that she was raised well and was dearly loved." He paused until Elurín's gray eyes met his gaze. "I was among those who helped the Lord and Lady look after her. She missed her parents, and longed to know you, but she was happy."

Elurín lowered his head and closed his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and held it a moment before releasing it. "Thank you, Haldir. You have brought peace to an adar's heart, and will to my wife's as well when I tell her."

Haldir smiled as he thought of Elurín's lovely daughter. He was unaware that Elurín studied him with interest until he spoke.

"Did you ever stray from the warden's path long enough to marry and have young of your own?"

Haldir swallowed reflexively. How much should he say when he did not know what awaited them at the dock? Part of him wanted to accompany Elurín and his wife to the quay while another part of him felt uncharacteristically shy and unsure. What changes might time have wrought in Isilmei's heart since last he saw her?

"Very nearly," he finally said when he realized that Elurín was waiting for his response. An image rose to the forefront of his mind of Isilmei's face the first time she told him she loved him and his arms ached to hold her once more. "I do not think we would have rushed to have elflings in those dark days, for it had been many years since young were born in the Golden Wood. But I was betrothed." His eyes fell once again to the mug in his hands. "Tragically, it happened only a short time before I was killed."

"Ai, Haldir." Elurín's rich voice was warm with sympathy. "Have you been reunited with your beloved since your release?"

Another image of Isilmei, this time with his flowers braided in her hair as she napped in his arms beside the rushing Celebrant, flashed behind his eyes. "Not yet."

Elurín gripped his forearm. "I wish you happiness."

"And I you," Haldir said as he returned the gesture.

They were silent for a long moment, though Haldir was aware that Yávewen hovered nearby in effort to see to their comfort. He looked up at her and nodded even as he noticed an unusual tension on her face. As he glanced back at his companion he supposed that the frown pulling down the corners of Yávewen's lovely mouth were the result of her innate ability to empathize with others. She really was one of the most compassionate ellith Haldir had ever met.

"Tell me of Calien."1

Haldir looked up, confused. "Who?"

Elurín smiled. "My daughter."

'_Ah,'_ Haldir thought. He had never thought to ask Isilmei what her parents called her, but should have been able to make the connection without help. He struggled to find the words to say to a father who had never known his daughter, and was tempted to explain the full nature of his situation to Elurín. Something held him back, however. Whether it was his desire to allow the family reunion without interruption or some other concern, he was uncertain. "She is…" he began, stopping when he was unable to find the words that befit her. He finally settled for, "She is glorious."

Regret had once again settled over Elurín's features as he waited to hear Haldir's words. "She is called something else now?"

Haldir nodded. "Lord Celeborn chose to call her Isilmei. It is the only name by which I have ever known her."

"Curious he chose a name with its root in Quenya," Elurín said with a shake of his blond head. "Perhaps the Lady foresaw she would live out the majority of her life here."

"Perhaps." Haldir could tell that Elurín waited expectantly for him to say more, but how could he possibly find the words to do her justice? "She is generous and kind, an eager student of all types of knowledge and skills – except for those of self-defense." He chuckled at the memory of how hard she tried to avoid those lessons. "She trained as a healer."

Elurín smiled widely. "Her naneth predicted she would, and named her Nethril.2 Caladhiel will be pleased to hear of it."

Silence sat watchfully between them as each ellon became lost in private thoughts for several long moments. Around them other patrons conversed and Yávewen bustled about, but all of that had no bearing on Haldir's state of mind.

"It is a difficult thing," Elurín mused softly. "I loved my foster parents, but the pain of losing my parents, my siblings, haunted me.3 I miss them still, especially my brother."

Haldir turned his head to meet Elurín's gaze but found it immersed in the bottom of his goblet.

"I was happy among the Galadhrim," Elurín continued, "enough so that I never felt the need to make my own family. I never wanted to wed and risk the pain to myself or someone else if Darkness struck again." He finally raised his eyes to meet Haldir's concerned gaze, his lips pulling up into a shadow of a smile. "Meeting Caladhiel changed my life. I fought loving her. I did not want to let her into my heart, but she was determined." He laughed softly at the memory. "For centuries after we wed and I followed her to Imladris, I refused to grant her dearest wish that we have an elfling. I knew, all those of us who guarded the borders did, that a Shadow grew in the world. That truth was no different in Imladris than it was in Lothlorien. I did not think the world safe enough and did not want to put my youngling through the same tragedy that was visited upon me."

"It must have been hard for you," Haldir commiserated. He imagined he would have been horrified had Isilmei asked him for an elfling before the Dark Lord met his end.

"Yet I can deny Caladhiel nothing. She is sweetly persistent and so winning that she eventually charms me into doing exactly as she wishes," Elurín laughed.

"Your daughter takes after her naneth," Haldir told him with a fond smile. Had she been any other pupil she would be better schooled in the defensive arts, and they would have had fewer pleasant moments of leisure together. Only for Isilmei had he been willing to set his sense of duty aside for the simple pleasure of enjoying her smile.

Elurín grimaced good-naturedly. "Between the two of them I wonder if I shall ever know a moment's peace again."

Haldir chuckled at the other's jest though his attention was focused upon his own musings. He could easily imagine a joyous reunion, one that would last the ages of the world. He prayed that the sacrifices he had made were about to be rewarded.

"It is a terrible thing to want so much for your young and then be unable to fulfill any of your dreams for them," Elurín said softly. "My greatest fear was realized when my wife and I were killed for I orphaned my elfling just as I myself was orphaned.4 I am grateful to Uncle Celeborn and his lady wife for caring for Calien, but I will never be able to know the elfling she was. We should have been there for her first words, her first steps."

Haldir had no doubt as he rested his hand upon Elurín's shoulder that the sorrow and regret so heavy in Elurín's expression had weighed on his heart since he entered Mandos. "Be there for her now, Elurín. She knew that you and I were acquainted during your years in Caras Galadhon. Though I could tell her little of her naneth, we spoke of you often. She _wants_ to know you. I do not know what changes time may have wrought in her life since I was summoned to the Halls, but I know her heart. It will bring her great joy to see you waiting at the quay."

Elurín clasped the hand on his shoulder in a sturdy grip. "You have always been a good friend, Haldir. Thank you for helping look after my elfling. And thank you for your kind words, for they are full of wisdom."

Haldir smiled. "I think you will be most pleased with the elleth your elfling has become."

"I have no doubt you are correct," Elurín said with a determined smile. "I should collect my mate." As he stood he quickly grasped Haldir's arm. "Our home is four leagues inland, to the north of town. Come see us."

"I will," Haldir promised. He watched Elurín leave and was just about to take a drink of his wine when Yávewen surprised him by perching on the stool Elurín had just vacated. He lifted an eyebrow, but she spoke before he had the chance.

"You love her." Her face was more solemn than Haldir had ever seen it, all traces of her usual mirth replaced by heavy certainty.

"Yávewen," he began as he tried to determine what had brought about such uncharacteristic behavior in her. "Why do you…"

"You love Elurín's daughter, do you not?" She pressed. "He may have been too consumed by his own thoughts to notice, but I see the truth in your eyes."

She was right and they both knew it, even though Haldir was clueless as to the reason behind her sudden interrogation. "Yes," he admitted.

He would not have thought it possible, but her expression darkened another degree. As the corners of her generous mouth pulled downward, she asked, "Why did you not tell him?"

Haldir shrugged for he was still uncertain of his reasoning himself. How could he explain matters to her satisfaction when his feelings were still a jumble to him? "I did not want…I suppose in part because I did not wish to interrupt his reunion with his daughter." He would have stopped there, but saw in the expectant way she arched one brow at him that she knew there was more and wanted to hear it all. He finally decided that he trusted Yávewen enough to give voice to his doubts. "And in part because I do not know whether or not she still feels the same way."

Anger flared quick and hot across Yávewen's face as she leaned forward and gripped his forearm with surprising strength. "If she is so fickle in her affections that a handful of years would change her feelings for you then she is not the sort of elleth you should have given your heart to in the first place!" He was taken aback by the force of her invective, but not so much that he missed the flash of pain in her eyes before she covered it with stubborn determination.

"You do not understand, Yávewen. It is complicated."

"Love does not seem so complicated a matter to me," she insisted with an emphatic shake of her head. "When someone accepts your heart, it is supposed to be forever."

"And it would have been," Haldir said as he leapt to the defense of his lady. "But I released her from her promise. I asked her to let me go."

Confusion twisted Yávewen's pretty features. "Then you did not truly love her."

"I did!" Haldir insisted as he leaned forward. "I _do_. I did what I thought best for her, and I thought I had accepted her loss, but knowing that she is coming here brings back… every memory, every smile. Every emotion."

His eyes had drifted toward his mug as he thought of Isilmei, so he was surprised to discover that his friend was near tears when he glanced up once more. Yávewen withdrew her hand from his forearm and lowered her gaze to her lap. "Then you should go to her."

"Yávewen, what is it? What is wrong?" He had never seen her so lacking her usual joy and wanted to see her smile restored. He reached out a hand toward her but she was already on her feet and moving away from him.

"Go," she said quietly. "Your lady's ship arrives soon." She turned and quickly slipped from the room.

Haldir was torn. He wanted to follow after her and determine the cause of her upset so that he could offer whatever support was necessary to restore her happiness. Yet the siren call of the approaching ship and its passenger proved too strong a force to ignore.

TBC…

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1, 2As detailed on the site "realelvish 'dot' net" (which draws heavily from LACE) Tolkien's Elves often went by several names during the course of their lives. Very generally, the first name was given by the father and typically established an elfling's lineage. A son would likely be given a name that reflected his father (ex. Legolas was also known as Thranduilion or "Son of Thranduil") while a daughter might be given a name that reflected her mother. A second name was given to an elfling by his or her mother and frequently reflected a character trait or skill that the mother predicted the elfling would develop. Young elves also went through a naming ceremony in which they could declare what name they wished to be called. At other times an elf might adopt a name given by someone close (ex. Celeborn gave his beloved a name which was eventually transformed into "Galadriel.").

3,4Elurín, his twin brother Eluréd, and their sister Elwing (Elrond's mother) were born in the First Age. Their father Dior was the son of Beren and Lúthien, and their mother Nimloth was the daughter of Galathil (Lord Celeborn's brother…Are you still with me?). [Side note: So, Elrond was already related through his maternal line to Celeborn before he married Celeborn's daughter. Hmm.]

While Elurín and his brother were still very young, their father Dior inherited from his parents the "Necklace of the Dwarves, wherein was set [a] Silmaril" (_The Silmarillion_, pg. 262). "But now the rumour ran…that Dior…wore the Nauglamír [Necklace of the Dwarves]…and the oath of the sons of Fëanor was waked again from sleep" (_Ibid_, 263).

To make a long (But really interesting, you should check it out if you haven't already!) story short, Fëanor's sons desired the Silmaril, which was a legacy of their family that they considered their rightful property. Dior ignored their demand that he give them the Silmaril and so they attacked Dior's realm during the coldest part of winter. During the ensuing battle, Dior and Nimloth were both murdered, and "the cruel servants [of Dior's enemies]…seized [Dior's] young sons and left them to starve in the forest…and the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells" (_Ibid_, 263). Their sister Elwing managed to escape the carnage along with some of Dior's followers. Elwing was still in possession of the Silmaril after giving birth to Elrond and Elros.

Obviously, I've taken quite a bit of creative liberty in bringing Elurín into this story. I would _like_ to think that the two little boys were rescued, secreted away for their own protection, and that at least Elurín survived to adulthood. After going through such traumatic events during childhood, I think it makes sense that Elurín would be very cautious about starting his own family and might delay it a good long while. I have chosen to place him among the Galadhrim who accepted Lord Celeborn (his mother's uncle) and Lady Galadriel as their rulers. When their daughter Celebrian married Elrond and moved to Rivendell, Elurín chose to volunteer for his kinswoman's honor guard. In Rivendell he met and finally married an elleth named Caladhiel. Years later he was killed along with his wife in the attack that wounded Celebrian at the Redhorn Pass. They left behind an infant daughter, Isilmei.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Revelation**

If Haldir had not been so anxious, he might have laughed at the position he had chosen. True to centuries of training and practice, he had selected a spot that allowed him clear view of the harbor below without revealing his presence to the small crowd gathered there. He had tactical advantage and would be able to stand on high ground, his silhouette obscured by low hanging branches of the tree beneath which he stood, as he watched for the right moment to make his approach.

His eyes scanned the horizon and a thrill of excitement coursed through him as he spotted white sails approaching. His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced toward the group of people waiting next to the dock. How he wanted to walk down and take his place among them, but the composition of the group had surprised him and increased his caution.

Elurín stood next to an elleth who must be his wife, for though her hair was a light golden brown instead of silver-blond, her face bore a striking resemblance to Isilmei's. Next to Elurín stood Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, which he had expected given the bonds of love between Isilmei and her guardians. He noted with delight that his lord and lady looked every bit as regal as they ever had, and more peaceful than he remembered seeing them. Their time in the Blessed Realm seemed to be good for them.

Haldir was surprised to note Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian among the group, for Isilmei had not known Lord Elrond during her years in Caras Galadhon. Lord Elrond did not return to the Golden Wood after his wife was attacked. Could one or more of their offspring be on board as well?

Standing a little apart from the rest of the group was tall, stern-faced Lord Thranduil, former King of the Woodland Realm. Beside him was a slender elleth whose head barely reached his shoulder. He would guess by the proprietary way Lord Thranduil kept his hand at the small of her back that she was perhaps his wife, but Haldir had never met the Woodland queen to say for certain. How could _they_ possibly know Isilmei well enough to be at the dock waiting for her ship?

By the time Haldir moved his eyes back toward the water the ship was nearing the dock and the waiting group surged forward. Two workers stepped in to efficiently maneuver a landing ramp into place as two others caught the ropes cast over the sides to snug the hull against the quay.

The sides of the ship curved over the deck and were high enough that he could not see anyone on board until the first passenger stepped to the top of the ramp. Haldir had not realized he was holding his breath until it left him in a surprised huff as a stout figure appeared and began its descent. _'A dwarf! In the Undying Lands!'_ Haldir shook his head as though to clear his vision before he realized that he had seen this dwarf before in Lothlorien. This was Gimli, a member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Apparently his service against the Darkness had earned him the privilege of living out his days in Aman. The dwarf trundled steadily down the ramp to be greeted by a warm embrace from Lady Galadriel. Haldir knew the Lady had developed a fondness for the dwarf, but it still surprised him to see the easy affection she showed him.

Right on the dwarf's heels as he descended the ramp was a golden-haired elfling. Haldir studied the elfling, wondering how many others had sailed with Isilmei and beginning to question why there were not _more_ people waiting to greet their family members. The boy hid shyly behind Gimli as the dwarf returned the Lady's embrace until both Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn bent forward with glowing smiles to look the boy in the eye. The dwarf put an arm around the boy's shoulders and drew him forward in introduction. Whoever this boy was, he was obviously important to the Lord and Lady as well as to the dwarf.

The next to step forward and greet the boy were Lord Thranduil and his spouse, further heightening Haldir's curiosity regarding the boy's identity. Even from a distance Haldir could detect the surprise in Lord Thranduil's expression as well as the wide and delighted smile of his wife as they regarded the young one. The boy clasped Lord Thranduil's hand and bowed stiffly to the lady before looking shyly toward his toes.

The next figure to the top of the ramp caused Haldir to start. He had not seen the Prince of Mirkwood since that fateful night on the Deeping Wall, and yet here he was. Haldir supposed that his arrival explained the presence of Lord Thranduil and his wife, and felt a creeping dread worm its way through his gut as the prince paused at the top of the ramp and extended a hand behind him.

Haldir's trepidation turned into a stabbing pain that wracked his chest as Isilmei stepped into view. The Mirkwood Prince gently guided her beside him and slipped an arm about her waist in a protective gesture as the two of them began their descent. Haldir felt the pieces of this puzzle snap into place with sickening clarity.

She was here, close enough that he could almost touch her, and she was forever lost to him. The elleth leaning heavily into Legolas Thranduilion's side was not the same Isilmei Haldir had last seen. Her face was sunken, her light diminished. Her slender limbs had grown frail and her body much too thin except for her noticeably swollen stomach. Isilmei was here. And obviously ill. And bonded to another whose offspring she carried.

Haldir experienced a flash of memory as he watched the prince continue to steady Isilmei as she stepped into the arms of first her grandfather and then her grandmother. He recalled finding Isilmei sitting next to the prince in Lady Galadriel's garden the night the Fellowship first entered the city and the flare of jealousy he felt when he saw the prince touching Isilmei's face. Haldir's behavior had been rude in that moment as he gruffly pulled Isilmei to her feet and hurried her out of the garden, but he had not cared. His only thought had been to see her to her rooms where she would be safe from whatever the prince had done to upset her. And now Haldir understood that his untimed departure from Middle-earth had delivered his beloved into the arms of that same prince.

He had not realized how hard his grip on the tree's trunk had become until he heard a small crunching noise. When he looked down he found his hand full of bark, felt the tree's slight shudder at the injury. He spread his fingers and placed them gently against the trunk in apology before turning on his heel and stalking away. The emotions bombarding him were too many, and too powerful. He felt like he could not draw in adequate breath. He was certain that he could not stay here and watch as Isilmei was reunited with everyone but himself and he clearly had no place in the gathering below. He had to get away.

He walked in a mental haze, unaware of where his feet led him until he reached the tavern. He blinked in shock when he realized where he was and nearly kept walking, but decided perhaps a goblet of wine might settle his mind, still the quake in his hands. Or at least dull the edge of his pain enough that he could begin coming to terms with it.

He sank heavily into his customary stool and nodded appreciatively when his mug appeared before him. He drained it in three large swallows and held it out for a refill. He could not meet Yávewen's eyes until he finished the second serving, and felt a queasiness in his stomach when he saw the sympathy and sorrow in her silver-blue gaze.

Haldir sat, frozen, as Yávewen placed her warm, capable fingers on his wrist and gently stroked his skin with her thumb. "I am sorry it did not go as you hoped," she said quietly.

He looked up at her. "How did you know?"

She gave him a small, sad smile as she shook her head at him. "I know only what I see in your face, you silly ellon. Your expression tells the tale eloquently."

"I am such a fool," Haldir said. "I actually believed for a time that I had put aside my love for her, that I had truly let her go and could accept whatever changes time had brought her if I ever met her again. Meeting Elurín today, the timing of it…I thought perhaps it was a sign from the Valar that my sacrifice would be rewarded. That her coming here so soon after my release meant we could be together as we planned."

"Perhaps you…can be," Yávewen said, though he noticed the words seemed to choke her.

He appreciated her sympathetic friendship and gripped her hand tightly. "No, she is lost to me. For she has married another and she carries his offspring." Yávewen's fingers flinched on his own. "To make matters worse," he said, "she is visibly unwell and I want nothing more than to go to her and find a way to help, but I gave up that right. It is no longer my place to stand beside her, for I am not her husband." The thought of the prince's hands upon Isilmei made him angry. He withdrew his hand from Yávewen's sturdy grasp and curled his fingers into a tight fist which he thumped against the counter. "And yet I should be! What have I done? How could I have been so stupid?"

Yávewen placed her hand on top of Haldir's to stop the fevered curling and uncurling of his fist. When he glanced up he saw horror in her eyes. "Haldir, you _cannot_ covet another's wife! To do so would be an affront to the Valar that they will surely not tolerate."

His shoulders sagged in defeat. He withdrew his hand from underneath hers but patted her knuckles reassuringly before he folded both hands around his mug. "Do not worry for me, my friend," he said sadly. "I understand that she will never be mine." He drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly releasing it as the full weight of his situation bore down upon his heart. "But I was a fool if I thought I no longer loved her. Now that I have seen her I realize that I love her as much today as I did the last time I saw her. I will know loneliness as I yearn from afar for that which I can never have." With a bitter snort, he said, "My younger brother told me once that it was foolish for me to gamble with my heart. Apparently he was correct."

"Haldir."

The pain in her voice made him lift his eyes to her face and he felt a surge of tenderness toward the elleth when he saw the tears in her eyes. Reaching out to take her hand in both of his, he fought to maintain his composure for a few more moments. "Forgive me, Yávewen, for my demented ramblings. You have been a true friend to me since my release and I appreciate you more than you know." He patted her hand as he released it and stood. "It has been a difficult day. I wish to be alone."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but he was certain his emotions would embarrass him if he tarried. He turned quickly on his heel and fled the tavern, making straight for the solitude of his beach-side home.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Family Meeting**

"Which is why they should stay with _us_."

"Her family is _here_, in Avallónë."

"And _his_ is in Kôrtirion. Your granddaughter is not the only one affected by her condition."

"True, but she is most certainly at the center of this situation. Elrond is widely acknowledged as being one of the greatest healers of our kind. She is _ill_. He is _here_. How is this not _logical_ to you?"

Legolas sighed as he tipped his head to rest it against the back of the divan on which he sat. He looked up at the thick-beamed ceiling and hoped that the increasingly loud argument between his father and Isilmei's grandfather would end quickly, but he doubted it. Beside him Isilmei buried her forehead against his neck, turning her head so that a thick section of her hair covered her face. He could feel her weary disappointment at the disastrous turn the conversation had taken as the differing opinions – and equally strong wills – of Lord Celeborn and Lord Thranduil quickly spiraled into an argument.

When her breath against his neck began to hitch with the force of tears she tried so hard to conceal, Legolas tightened his arm about her shoulders. His patience with their well-intentioned elders was rapidly reaching its end. "Stop it, please. You are upsetting my wife. She is under too much strain as it is."

Legolas had not intended the words to come out quite as harshly as they did, but he felt a small measure of satisfaction at the looks of surprise and chagrin he received from his father and Lord Celeborn. When he glanced around the rest of the room, he saw that Lady Galadriel looked almost amused. His mother stared at him, her wide green eyes revealing her surprise at the crisp command in his voice. Only Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían gave nothing away, their expressions carefully neutral as the more immediate members of the family discussed potential living arrangements for Legolas, Isilmei, and their son. A quick look down at his wife showed him nothing for she continued to hide her face. He reached out to her through their bond but felt only the numbing exhaustion weighting her limbs. A warm bed and a peaceful night's sleep would be good for her.

"No decision must be reached tonight," Lady Celebrían said in a voice reminiscent of her mother's. "We have reserved rooms for everyone here at the inn for as long as they are needed."

"Thank you, my Lady," Legolas said.

"Elurín and Caladhiel expressed their desire to call tomorrow," Lady Celebrían continued, "if Isilmei is feeling up to a visit. They are staying with friends in town."

"What do you think, Isil?" When he got no response, he squeezed her shoulders. "Isil?" Still she said nothing, which prompted Legolas to carefully push back her curtain of hair. Her eyes were clouded by slumber, her breathing soft and even. "My apologies," he said as he caressed her cheek and glanced up at the elders. "She is exhausted. She did not sleep well on the ship, and her stamina is not as it should be."

"There is no need for _you_ to apologize," Lord Elrond said with a patient nod. Turning slightly to address the rest of the assembled group, he continued, "But perhaps this would be a good time for everyone to refresh themselves before dinner."

Legolas's mother stood and walked toward him. "Legolas, where is Belion?"

He smiled as he looked at her, for he was certain many years would pass before he would take for granted seeing her beloved face. "In the garden with Gimli."

She returned his smile as she cupped his cheek and bent forward to press a kiss to his brow. She straightened and looked into his eyes as she said, "I believe I will spend this time with my grandson while you see to your wife."

Legolas watched his father follow his mother from the room as Lady Galadriel stood and extended a hand to her husband. Lord Elrond approached and leaned forward to rest two fingers underneath Isilmei's chin as he studied her face. Legolas noted the expression of concern the elder began to form even before Lord Elrond met Legolas's worried gaze.

"I would like to examine her. If you will accompany me I will show you to the room which has been reserved for you."

As Legolas wordlessly pulled Isilmei into his lap and stood with her nestled safely in his arms, he pondered the differences between the world they left behind and the one in which they now found themselves. He would not have imagined a lord of Elrond's stature escorting anyone to their chamber in Imladris, but perhaps in Aman protocol was more relaxed. He had gleaned from the bits of conversation he overheard during the afternoon that Lord Elrond maintained an estate on Tol Eressëa but was without many of the previous demands on his time. Regardless of the reason, Legolas was grateful for the venerable lord's attention to his wife's condition.

Lord Elrond led him down a long corridor and opened a door near the end of the hall. As Legolas laid Isilmei gently on the bed, Lord Elrond gestured toward a door on the far side of the room. "Your son's room is through that door. Lord Gimli has the room on the other side of Belion's."

"Thank you," Legolas said quietly as he removed Isilmei's slippers and placed them beside the bed. He stood back and watched as Lord Elrond leaned over Isilmei to begin his examination.

What Legolas knew of healing was primarily confined to battlefield triage. He knew how to extract poison, set a broken bone, and stem bleeding, but little else. He had learned a few things from his wife over the years but felt he possessed no real talent for healing. She had explained that while there were basic skills each healer needed, the heart of the art differed for each practitioner. He was therefore unsure what to expect as he watched Lord Elrond work.

The elder began by placing two fingers against the side of Isilmei's neck as though feeling her pulse. After a moment he moved his hand to her forehead and closed his eyes, though on what he concentrated Legolas was unsure. The room became so still and quiet that Legolas nearly started when Lord Elrond spoke.

"I understand your wife has some skill as a healer."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Practitioners of the healing arts often make the most difficult patients," he said with a wry smile. "Have other healers examined her since she became ill?"

"Yes, my Lord. There were four other healers besides herself in Ithilien, all of whom tried to help her. Lord Elrohir made a special trip from Imladris to see her. The two of them have become good friends."

Lord Elrond glanced at Legolas over his shoulder. "Did my son come to any conclusions?"

Legolas shook his head. "Only that the twins place too great a burden on their naneth's physical resources."

"Yes, that is plain to see." Lord Elrond's hands moved to Isilmei's stomach. "Has she been ill since she conceived?"

"No, my Lord. The trouble started about three months into the pregnancy."

"And her first pregnancy?"

Legolas stepped around to the foot of the bed so that he could better watch Lord Elrond work. "Normal. Healthy."

Lord Elrond glanced up to meet Legolas's gaze. "What symptoms does she experience?"

"She is always tired," Legolas said as he thought through recent months, "yet she cannot sleep through the night. She does not speak of it but I know she experiences pain. Food turns her stomach to the point that she hardly eats. I watch her grow weaker and thinner every day. Her hands tremble at the slightest task."

"When she takes food, does she keep it?" The elder gently moved aside Isilmei's hands, which cradled her unborn offspring. Then Lord Elrond placed one hand on either side of Isilmei's stomach and gently pressed first one side and then the other as he felt for the twins.

"Only in small measures."

Lord Elrond shook his head. "We must convince her to eat more. The twins will _take_ what nourishment they need from her body. She is the one who suffers when she fails to eat properly."

Legolas felt a spike of frustration. "It is a conversation we have had many times, my Lord."

The elder looked up and gave him a small, but reassuring, smile. "There is a tea that will help stimulate her appetite. I will prepare some for her."

"Lord Elrohir suggested the same, but it made her ill."

"I will add some mint to alleviate the nausea. I have found that healing herbs grow somewhat more potently here than they do on Middle-earth, which will no doubt be to your wife's benefit." Lord Elrond crossed to a bureau and drew out a thick blanket. Legolas took one end and together they draped it over Isilmei's legs and feet.

"She is an excellent naneth," Lord Elrond said quietly as Isilmei shifted on the bed. Her hands came to rest once more on her belly.

"My Lord?"

The elder gestured toward Legolas's sleeping mate. "See the way she guards her stomach even in slumber? That tells me she is tenderly protective of her young."

Legolas felt a fond smile tug at his lips. "She took to parenting most naturally. When I courted her she was a member of Queen Arwen's retinue. Isil helped raise your daughter's children."

An expression of pain mingled with curiosity crossed Lord Elrond's face. "How many did she have?"

"A son and three daughters." Legolas pictured each of the children as he spoke, and wondered how they fared. He could not relate directly with Lord Elrond's obvious grief, but he knew how it felt to leave loved ones behind, and to miss them dearly.

The elder's gaze drifted toward the window for a long moment. When again he spoke his voice was low and thoughtful. "I should like to talk to Isilmei about them sometime."

Legolas's heart went out to the other ellon. "She would be delighted to tell you of them, for she loves them dearly. We both do."

Lord Elrond drew in a deep breath and visibly pushed aside his melancholy. With a nod toward Legolas's sleeping wife, he said, "I can feel the twins' energies. Both are strong. One of them is _very_ strong, her light brighter than her naneth's."

Legolas frowned. "Is their strength the cause of her weakness?"

Lord Elrond appeared thoughtful. "It is true that these twins are taking more out of their naneth than normal elflings would. Labor and delivery is one of the few events which pose inherent risk to an elleth." When he saw Legolas's worried look, Lord Elrond smiled and shook his head as though to brush aside the thought. "But not to worry, gifted elflings have been born in the past and will be born in the future. We are well able to help her through this task. My wife has gained some considerable experience in midwifery since she came to the Undying Lands."

Legolas took a deep, steadying breath and attempted to calm his nerves, yet was only partially reassured by Lord Elrond's words.

"You were wise to bring her to Aman;" Lord Elrond continued with a patient smile, "for the Valar are especially generous to the Firstborn here. I am certain that all will be well in the end."

"Thank you for your aid, Lord Elrond," Legolas said. He knew he would continue to worry about his wife's health, but he felt better knowing that a healer of such high reputation was both willing to aid his family and optimistic about Isilmei's prognosis.

As though reading his mind and peering into the heart of his concerns, Lord Elrond said, "I know you want to take care of your wife, Legolas, but you do not have to bear all the responsibility alone. You have family and friends here who want to help you – to the point that they argue about who can do the better job." A sly smile had spread across the elder's wide mouth.

Legolas gave a wry chuckle as he shook his head. "I apologize for my adar's behavior."

Lord Elrond raised a hand between them to stave off further apology. "Nonsense. I have known your adar far longer than you have. He is delighted that you are here, and he wants to help. It is simply his manner, not his motive, which needs polishing."

Legolas smiled. This was the longest conversation he had ever had with Lord Elrond, and he discovered that he liked him – and trusted him – implicitly.

"Take solace. Your wife will find rest and healing here. We will help her deliver your daughters and in time, I believe she will make a full recovery." With that Lord Elrond moved toward the door. With his hand on the latch he turned back to Legolas. "About that other situation, I believe Celebrían and I can help. There is a cabin on our estate. It is small, but private and next to the ocean. It is separated from our home by a short walk over the dunes. If you like, you and Isilmei may have it for as long as you wish to keep it. With a little work it could easily accommodate your family. It is not a fancy dwelling, but it is cozy and warm and I would be just over the dunes whenever she needed a healer's assistance. We have more than enough room in our home to house anyone who would like to visit you."

Legolas was nearly overwhelmed with gratitude, for he had no idea how else to handle their fractious relatives in this new land. He bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart in a gesture of sincere gratefulness and respect. "Thank you, my Lord. I am humbled by your offer. I will discuss it with my wife when she wakes."

As the elder stepped through the doorway, Legolas remembered that there was one question he had not asked. "You said that one of the twins is powerful. Do you have any idea regarding the nature of that power?"

Lord Elrond stopped and turned back to face Legolas as he shook his head. "No, but I can easily sense that it is there. The purpose of her gift may not be readily apparent even after her birth. We may just have to wait and see how her power manifests itself as she grows."

Legolas was far from satisfied with that answer, but understood that it was the best he would get for the time being. Both he and Isilmei had certain abilities, but neither of them was considered truly powerful. The thought that together they had created a gifted elfling gave him pause. Would they know how to properly raise such an elfling?

With a sigh, he closed the door behind Lord Elrond's retreating back. Crossing to the bed, Legolas unfolded the blanket so that Isilmei was covered from chin to toe because he knew how much she hated for her shoulders to chill from exposure as she slept. When she was nestled snugly under the blanket, he paused long enough to brush stray wisps of hair away from her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to her temple. She did not stir; and satisfied that she would sleep for a time longer, he slipped from the room and went in search of Belion and his sturdy guardian.

Legolas found his mother, his son, and his dear friend Gimli in the inn's common room with mugs of chilled cider and a plate of sweets before them. He stopped to watch them for a moment, touched by the gentle sweetness his mother showed his son and the natural way the two of them seemed to take to one another. For his part Gimli seemed delighted by the way Belion was eagerly telling his grandmother all about his life in Ithilien – of his home and his studies, his friends and the games they played. When Belion stopped to take a breath, his face drooping into a frown as he experienced a wave of home-sickness, his grandmother assured him that she knew some families with elflings about his age and that he would soon have new playmates and new adventures to enjoy.

A wide grin painted Legolas's face by the time he joined the trio at their table. His mother poured another mug of cider which she passed to Legolas as he took a seat beside his son and ruffled the boy's hair.

Belion made a face. "Only _little_ elflings have their hair mussed, Ada," he said with obvious disapproval.

Legolas chuckled. "Only _little_ elflings talk with their mouths full, my son."

His mother made a tsking noise as she reached out and ruffled Legolas's hair. Unlike his son, he would not dream of protesting the gesture for he had missed his mother dearly. Beside him, Belion giggled.

"Leave the boy alone," his mother gently scolded. "He is just fine." She turned her bright green gaze and wide smile toward Belion as she handed him another sweet. "In fact, he is absolutely perfect."

As he regarded the two of them, Legolas's heart swelled with love and he thought he rather agreed with his mother's assessment.

"How fares your lady?" Gimli asked.

"She sleeps," Legolas said as he reached for the plate of confections. He had not realized until this moment how hungry he had become.

"Is Nana alright, Ada?" Belion's precious little face was a study in grim thoughtfulness.

"Yes, son," he promised with a smile. "She is fine. Just sleepy. You will see her as soon as she has had a chance to rest awhile."

Belion turned his serious blue gaze on his grandmother. "Sisters are tiring."

His mother leaned forward and pulled Belion into her lap. Kissing his cheek, she told him, "Then we shall have to be extra helpful so that your naneth can get all the rest she needs to recover her strength. Do you agree?"

Belion nodded, his golden hair brushing his narrow shoulders. Legolas smiled at the image they created sitting there together; but in a deep place in his heart – one that he knew he did not have the luxury of acknowledging at the moment – he felt a wistful longing for the youth he might have known had this sweet lady stayed to be part of his life.

He realized his keen friend had picked up on his churning emotions only when Gimli cleared his throat. "I believe I could use a nap myself," Gimli said as he swung his leg over the bench and pulled himself to his feet. "Legolas, my lad, where can I rest my weary bones?"

Legolas grinned as he always did when Gimli called him 'lad,' for he seemed to be the only one between them who remembered that he had already lived more than two thousand years before Gimli was a squalling infant. He had long since given up commenting on his friend's choice of wording, however. "Your room is two doors down from ours, with Belion between us. I will show you." Standing, he intended to usher Belion out of the room as well, but his mother turned up imploring eyes.

Tightening her arms about the boy's slender frame, his mother said, "Now that we have had our snack, I thought Belion and I might walk about town for a while to work up our appetites before dinner." Grinning down at the elfling in her lap, she asked, "Would you like that, little one?"

"Yes!" Belion exclaimed as he bounced up and down on his grandmother's lap. "Can Grandfather Thranduil come too?"

Legolas relented at his son's eager happiness, trusting that the boy was in attentive hands. "He should rest for at least a few minutes before the meal," he told his mother.

"But, Ada, _I_ am not sleepy!"

Legolas ignored his son's protest with a tolerant smile. "And he should change his tunic."

His mother gave him her most persuasive grin. "He will come to dinner rested and in clean clothes. I will even brush his hair," she promised.

Legolas bent to kiss his mother's cheek and the top of Belion's head before leading Gimli from the room. As they turned down the corridor toward the guest rooms, his friend asked, "How are you holding up, lad?"

"Fine. Thank you for all that you have done today." He shot his friend an apologetic glance. "I did not intend for you to spend so much of your first day here chaperoning Belion."

Gimli waved off his concern with a dismissive gesture. "The boy never ceases to amuse and entertain. You just let me worry about how I spend my time."

Clasping his favorite dwarf on the shoulder, Legolas said, "Thank you."

Pausing before the door Legolas indicated, one corner of Gimli's mouth quirked upward as he ducked his chin as though bracing for a blow. "Go ahead. Say it."

Legolas felt an answering smile tug at his lips, but he had no intention of letting his friend off so easily. Affecting a look of pure innocence, he asked, "Say what? Whatever could you mean?"

Gimli's dark eyes twinkled with merriment. "I hate it when you are right."

Legolas fought back a wide smile as he placed a hand behind one ear as though hard of hearing. "I apologize, my friend, but I did not quite catch that. Would you say it again?"

"No, I will not. You have many faults but hearing loss is not among them," Gimli grumped playfully.

Legolas let his smile shine through. "I told you so."

"_There_ it is," Gimli said with a wave of one hand. "Feel better to have gotten that off your chest?"

"Yes, quite," Legolas nodded. "I knew there was no way – after all you did to aid the cause of freedom on Middle-earth – that the Valar would deny entry to the Lockbearer of Galadriel."

With an uncharacteristically shy smile but without further comment, Gimli gripped Legolas's forearm and then disappeared behind his chamber door.

Legolas continued to smile as he returned to his room to find his wife still peacefully slumbering. His friend deserved the peace and healing offered by the Blessed Realm as much as any other and Legolas was pleased that he and Isilmei had been able to convince Gimli to sail with them. Lulled by the quiet of the room and Isilmei's deep, even breathing, he slipped off his shoes and sank to the mattress beside her. As he resettled the blanket over them both, she drew a deep breath as her eyelashes fluttered.

"Shh, love," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Where is Belion?" She turned carefully onto her side and snuggled into the crook of his arm as she spoke.

"With my naneth."

"And Gimli?"

"Resting in his room."

Nodding in satisfaction that those she worried over were accounted for, she breathed out a soft sigh as her body relaxed against his. Legolas rubbed his free hand across his eyes for he was suddenly deeply, truly weary. He was just about to give in to slumber's pressing summons when he realized that his wife was still awake and deep in thought. He turned so that he could see her face.

"I do not care where we live," she whispered, "but I cannot abide listening to them argue about it."

"Lord Elrond proposed what I believe to be the perfect solution," he said as he tightened the arm about her. Knowing he had her full attention he quickly continued. "He has offered us the use of a small dwelling on his property for as long as we need it. We have his blessing to make whatever modifications we wish, and we would live within sight of the ocean."

She drew in a sharp breath. "I would dearly love to hear the waves at night as we lay down to sleep." A look of hopeful longing lit her features.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Then it is settled. I shall speak to Lord Elrond and make arrangements to visit the cottage tomorrow to see what work needs doing."

"Our own _home_," she said, her eyes full of dreamy happiness as they gazed at the ceiling above them. He could feel in the peace which settled in her spirit that the idea pleased her tremendously. "We can be together while the elflings are small, just the five of us."

"And a renowned healer will reside just over the dune," he added, for that was one of the details that was paramount in his mind. "If we are to have three elflings, it seems only logical that there are at least two healers on hand at all times."

She smiled at his jest as she tipped up her face and kissed the side of his neck. With a contented sigh she nestled closer to him and pulled the blanket over her shoulder.

As he began combing her hair with his fingers, he said, "Dinner commences at sunset. Do you think you will be able to join us?"

"I am afraid the smell of the food will turn my stomach," she said. "I have no wish to embarrass myself."

"Our families want to see you, and you need to eat, love," he said with a sigh. "It is important that…" His words were cut off by a muffled voice outside the door. Slipping from under the blanket and crossing the room, Legolas pulled open the door to discover a young elleth he remembered bustling about the common room standing in the hallway. She held a large mug in each hand, both of which contained steaming liquid.

She curtsied as much as her burden would allow. "Greetings, my Lord. Lord Elrond instructed me to bring these to you. He says that your lady should drink the tea first," she handed him one of the mugs, "and then wait a short while before drinking the broth. He says she is to consume the full contents of both mugs before dinner."

"Thank you," he said with a nod as he accepted the second mug. "I will see it done."

The elleth nodded as she turned smoothly on her heel and walked away. Turning around, he pushed the door closed with one foot as he grinned at his wife. "Well, sit up, love. We have our orders."

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Brooding**

_A month later…_

Yávewen sat with her back to the vineyard, her knees pulled up so that she could rest her chin upon them. The sun had nearly set as she sat gazing into the eastern horizon, and with its departure the breeze had cooled. She wrapped both arms about her knees to ward off a creeping chill.

She worried for Haldir, and was saddened by the situation in which he had found himself. He had not appeared in the tavern – nor anywhere else about town, as far as she could discern – since Elurín's daughter arrived in Avallónë. Each day she was in the tavern Yávewen looked up eagerly whenever a patron stepped through the door hoping that Haldir would have pulled himself out of his dejection. Yet he did not return. As the days passed, her worry for him grew, as did her confusion.

Yávewen was unsure of the exact nature of her feelings for the beautiful, perplexing Galadhel, but could not deny the force of them. From his first visit, when he struggled so fiercely to hide the unsteadiness of his hands, her heart had gone out to him. There was no doubt he was a proud ellon, but there was something about the vulnerability she had seen in that moment that touched a deep place inside her heart. She instinctively wanted to protect him, even though she knew an ellon of his strength and self-sufficiency would spurn such notions. And so she had instead offered him her friendship and taken advantage of each opportunity she found to take care of him in some small way without pricking his already-heightened sense of self-consciousness.

It was strange, she supposed, because Haldir was certainly not the first of the Returned to visit the tavern. She knew what the tremor in his hands indicated as soon as she saw it because she had seen the same struggle in others. Yet none of those others had made her heart swell the way the former Captain of the Galadhrim had when he pulled himself onto a stool and tried to hide his difficulty.

Since then she had come to look forward to his visits. Those moments when a jest brought forth his charming smile warmed her heart in ways that were new to her. It was when he smiled that she noticed how handsome he was, and from there she began to notice the breadth of his shoulders, the strength inherent in his limbs despite the occasional lingering tremor that hinted at his efforts to master his new body.

She understood during their first meeting that Haldir was not the sort of individual who would bare his innermost thoughts casually, so she was content to enjoy the light banter that developed between them and to relish the moments when he allowed some small hint at his truest self to slip through his carefully composed façade. By looking for clues as to his preferences for food and drink, she ensured that his favorites were available when he visited. Her efforts had been rewarded by the friendship that blossomed between them. Those moments in which he revealed bits of his heart to her had become some of Yávewen's most cherished treasures.

Elurín's recent appearance at the tavern had initially pleased her, for it was the first time since Haldir's arrival in Avallónë that another of the Returned had visited. Yávewen had been certain that Haldir would benefit from speaking with an old comrade who had been through similar trials. And her assessment had been correct…until mention was made of Elurín's daughter.

Yávewen had been monitoring their conversation closely, so she immediately saw the change in Haldir's expression when Elurín announced that his daughter had taken the Straight Road. Yávewen's reaction to the look on Haldir's face had shocked her, for in that instant she felt as though she had been physically struck and briefly wished that the Valar would deny the ship passage and send it back to the bent world whence it came. It was in that moment that she realized her feelings for Haldir had grown beyond simple friendship. Learning that his heart belonged to another had made her want to hide and weep. It as yet another sign of his effect on her and was powerful enough to make her head swim.

She had never known such emotional entanglement until Haldir entered her life, and she found herself ruminating about him and his situation to the point of distraction. When it dawned on her that she and Haldir were in a similar position – loving one who loved another – she scoffed at her own dramatics and roughly shoved the notion aside. Yet she could not completely put it out of her mind no matter how mightily she struggled to do so.

Yávewen suspected that her father was well aware of her preoccupation with the tall Galadhel even though she tried to hide it. Her father was so keenly attuned to her moods that when she was small she believed he possessed the power to read her thoughts. As she grew she had learned that while her father possessed no special abilities, he was a profound observer of behavior and was therefore able to accurately deduce what bothered her before she admitted anything was wrong.

And so she was not surprised when she heard steady footsteps trod down the dirt path behind her just before her father took a seat beside her on the ridge. He allowed his booted feet to dangle over the edge as he gazed with her into the rapidly darkening sky.

"You brood, daughter," he began quietly. "Such is unlike you."

Yávewen stifled a groan, for while she knew this conversation was coming she did not yet feel ready for it. "Apologies, Ada. I was just taking a moment to watch the night sky."

"Look," he said as he pointed into the firmament above. "I see the Mariner.1 Make a wish."

"You spotted him first," she said as she nudged his side with her elbow. "_You_ make a wish."

Her father turned his head to face her then, a soft smile upon his lips. "I have everything I could possibly wish for, my girl. I give my wish to you."

It was a game they often played, and she smiled at the gentle familiarity of it. When she was small her father frequently hoisted her to his shoulders and brought her out to look for Eärendil to begin his nightly journey across the sky. When she asked, her father would tell her the Mariner's story, sometimes adding new details just to see if she was paying close enough attention to point out his exaggerations. It was one of her favorite tales, and she never tired of hearing his warm, melodic voice tell it.

Yávewen took a deep breath and scrunched her eyes tightly closed; wishing with all her heart that the sadness and frustration she had felt in recent days would leave her spirit. Her wish made, she released her breath and smiled at her father before she leaned across the small distance between them and rested her head on his shoulder.

Her father wrapped one arm about her and hugged her. Kissing the top of her head he asked, "Feel better?"

"You always know how to make me feel better, Ada," she replied as she lifted her head to kiss his cheek. She was not an elfling any longer, but every once and a while it was nice to pretend, as her father did, that her concerns could still be alleviated with so simple a game. Hers was the best father in all the world, she was convinced, for surely no elleth had ever had so loving and tender a parent as he.

They enjoyed a moment of quiet peace as the vines whispered softly among themselves before her father finally pressed forward with the inevitable conversation. "Do your heavy thoughts center, as I suspect, on the newly-Returned Galadhel?" His tone was grim in indication that he was not happy with her preoccupation.

She did not lift her head from his sturdy shoulder as she nodded. "He is suffering. He needs help, whether he realizes it or not, and I feel called to help him. I just do not know how."

Her father surprised her by abruptly removing his arm. His posture and expression stiffened as he turned toward her and gripped her shoulders with both hands, guiding her around until they faced each other squarely. "Before you become further involved in his situation, you must understand that he is dangerous to you, daughter."

The uncharacteristic sternness in her father's voice pricked her temper as she felt the need to defend her friend. "He is not!"

"He will bring you naught but grief," her father insisted.

Yávewen shrugged her shoulders in effort to escape her father's grasp but was unsuccessful. "How can you say that? You do not even know him!"

"I know the type," her father said as his gray eyes stared hard into her face. "He comes from Middle-earth. He is _wounded_."

Yávewen scoffed. There were some in Avallónë, and many more on the mainland from her understanding, who bore such prejudice against those from the bent world. The feeling was especially strong toward any who had passed through Mandos – and stronger still toward those skilled with blade and bow. And yet even though she knew such beliefs existed and understood that the long memories of the Eldar recalled the havoc wreaked by long-ago kinslayings and ancient wars, she was both shocked and angered to learn that her gentle, kind-natured father subscribed to such fruitless stereotypes. "So what if many of the people who come from the Marred Lands are burdened by their experiences? Haldir will build a new life for himself."

"He was a _warrior_!" Her father's tone made the word an insult.

"Many there were called to fight in order to defend those they loved," she seethed. "I have asked others about him. His reputation is spotless. He was the leader of Galadriel's Forest Guard. _All_ who knew him before have spoken of his nobility and goodness."

Yávewen could tell by the dismissive way her father shook his head that he was not impressed by the opinions of others when it came to Haldir. "A high reputation did not protect him from being damaged by the world in which he lived."

"How is that his fault?" She shook her head, genuinely confused by her father's intractability.

For a tense moment they stared at one another before her father finally huffed out a breath. "It is not, but…"

"Then why would you hold him responsible for factors beyond his control?"

"I seek to hold him responsible for nothing," her father insisted. "I seek only to protect my daughter!"

Yávewen felt a fool for not understanding the reason for her father's anxiety sooner, and sighed out a breath as her shoulders sagged under his hands. "Ada," she said tiredly, "in order for him to heal from the wounds he carries, he must build new relationships untainted by the darkness of that world."

"Then let him do so with others," her father said with a sigh as he dropped his hands from her shoulders to lean back and cast his gaze toward the sky. "I wish him no ill will, but nor I do not wish him upon you."

A tense silence stretched between them as each of them clung to their own positions. She knew full well that he was aware of her anger and she made no move to hide it from him. At the same time, he was steadfast in his certitude that Haldir would bring her nothing but pain.

"I am an adar, Yávewen," her father said finally, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. "_Your_ adar." When she looked over at him she found his eyes fixed upon her and filled with love and paternal worry. "The most important responsibility and privilege I have ever been given is to see to your safety and happiness. I do not wish to see you give your heart to one who is so damaged by his time on Middle-earth, my daughter." He sat up to push a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture so loving and tender that it brought tears to her eyes. "And I do not wish to see you pine for one who is not free to love you the way that you _deserve_ to be lov ed."

So her father knew _everything_, as usual. Yávewen's eyes fell toward her lap in mortification, though she supposed she should not have been surprised. "He is hurting, Ada," she whispered. "If nothing else, I am his friend. Perhaps the only friend he has allowed himself to make since his release. I want to help him. It is important to me."

After a long moment during which they studied one another, her father begrudgingly accepted that she would not be deterred. She knew from experience that convincing him she would not be denied – even in the face of his displeasure – was the key to winning his acquiescence, if not his approval. And so she held his gaze steadily as he evaluated her determination to maintain her friendship with Haldir.

Her father sighed heavily, his expression downcast. "You so seldom go against my wishes that I have no doubt of your sincerity, Yávewen. And I appreciate both your generosity of spirit and your desire to help the Galadhel. Yet you _cannot_ mend his broken heart, my dear. He must do that himself."

"I know."

"Yes, but will you remember what you know before you allow him to break your heart?"

She ducked her head a bit, feeling like a chastised elfling by the words even though her father's tone of voice had remained deliberately mild. He was skilled in making her feel guilty with the mildest of looks, after all. It was the only form of discipline he had ever needed during her girlhood. "I will," she promised.

"If he hurts you…"

Yávewen smiled at the protective scowl that sprang to her father's beloved face. "I know, Ada." She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "I love you."

"You have been the light of my life since the day you were born, my love," he said with tears in his eyes. She gripped his hand tightly as answering tears gathered behind her lashes. "I only ever wish for your happiness. Promise me that you will be careful."

Swallowing past the emotion closing her throat, Yávewen said, "I promise."

The following morning Yávewen rose early, determined that Haldir had sulked long enough and needed companionship to overcome his disappointment. If he refused to come to town, she would go to him. She packed a few provisions in a shoulder bag and began to hike. She had a vague impression of where she was headed based upon what Haldir had told her, but was unsure of her destination until she saw it.

The cabin was meager, four walls and a roof cobbled together out of driftwood and other items found by the shore. Large windows marked each wall, their shutters thrown wide to allow sunlight into the cabin. A rough-hewn door stood open but there was no sign of life about the cabin itself. Yávewen stopped at the top a dune, glancing toward the sea and then back toward the cabin before noticing a thin column of smoke rising from somewhere behind the structure. She decided to head in that direction.

Haldir stood next to a happily burning fire, leaning over a work table constructed of several pieces of drift wood cunningly lashed together. A bright red fish lay upon the table, while two others hung from a line tied between two scrubby trees next to the table.

"Vala Ulmo2 has been kind to you today, I see," she said as she approached him.

His eyes widened slightly, but other than that he gave no indication of being surprised by her appearance. "Indeed he has. Praise be to Lord Ulmo."

Feeling suddenly awkward as she realized that she did not know exactly what she intended to say to him, Yávewen quickly pulled a wine skin from her bag and held it out. "I brought you some of the red that you like. I thought it might please you."

To her chagrin Haldir held up his hands and closed his eyes, lowering his chin and grinning as though laughing at her foolishness. Or did he laugh at his own? Yávewen wished she knew him well enough to discern the answer to her question. No one had ever made her feel less certain of herself than the tall, exceedingly handsome ellon standing before her.

"Thank you, my friend, but I fear I have consumed far too much wine in the past few weeks. _All_ that you had sent home with me, in fact," Haldir admitted. "I am rather over-indulged." His silver eyes mirrored the color of the sea on this gray afternoon and held her entranced by the conflicting emotions swimming in their depths.

With a deep breath she determined not to allow him to unknowingly overwhelm her. She shrugged one shoulder in a gesture that was far more nonchalant than she felt as she returned the wine skin to her bag and drew out another. "Then perhaps you would prefer spring water from the forest well. It is said to contain healing properties for those who have imbibed more than was wise."

Haldir grinned fondly at her as he stepped forward and accepted the skin. He tipped his head back and drank deeply, and she could not help admiring the way his smooth silvery hair slid past his shoulders to hang down his strong back as he drank. Even through the loose shirt he wore she could see the play of muscle underneath tanned skin where it peeked out from collar and cuff. She tried to hide the fact that she was staring.

"I was about to stop for lunch. Would you care to join me?"

Yávewen heard the words, but it took her a moment to respond because her attention was focused upon a thin bead of water trailing down his strong chin. Her fingers ached to wipe it away, but she managed to suppress the urge. Barely. "I would love to." She made the words sound as casual as she could but wondered if he caught the slight breathiness in her voice.

She stayed with him for much of the afternoon. During their meandering conversation, Haldir was surprised to learn that she had never learned to fish. Once she admitted that while she knew how to clean and prepare fish she had never learned how to collect them, she found herself knee deep in the surf, mindless of her soaked trousers, as she listened carefully to his patient instructions. They were both delighted when she made her first catch.

Yávewen grew reflective during the afternoon hours as she watched Haldir prepare their catch for smoking. He had assured her that such a process would preserve the fish for transport so that he could take it to market in a few days' time and trade the pieces for goods he needed. He seemed happy to have found a way to provide for himself that he found enjoyable, which made Yávewen happy.

Her ebullient mood deflated as she noticed his preoccupation grow as the afternoon waned. Whenever the conversation lapsed his eyes inevitably grew troubled and distant. When she finally summoned up the courage to ask him what was on his mind, he gave her the answer she dreaded.

"My thoughts turn often to…my…friend."

"Elurín's daughter." The words caused her stomach to sour as a dull sense of inevitability settled over her shoulders.

"Yes." Haldir's eyes drifted toward the tall dunes separating them from the sea. "She was very ill when she arrived. I wonder how she fares."

"You have not been to visit her?" She was surprised because she was certain that Haldir had been spending as much time with his _'friend' _as her husband would allow.

"No," he said as his brow furrowed. "Why would I?"

Yávewen nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation. She was fascinated by this ellon in a way that was potentially disastrous, and here he was revealing his lingering fascination for someone else. And absurd as it seemed, she was about to advise him to do the one thing she wished he would never, ever do. "Haldir, even though she made choices that hurt you, if you care for her you need to see her."

"What purpose would my visiting her serve?" His expression was crestfallen and made Yávewen despise Elurín's daughter. "I will never again be to her what I once was."

Though there was much about this state of affairs of which she was uncertain, she was completely confident in the unsolicited advice she was about to share. "Yet it seems clear to me that you will not be able to move on with your life until you speak with her and gain some type of conclusion to what passed between you. I know you have no end of courage, so…"

"And how do you know that?" He almost looked amused as he dropped all pretense of work to cross muscular arms over his broad chest and squarely meet her gaze.

"Because I know what role you played in Lothlorien, and I know the esteem in which the Galadhrim hold you." Yávewen wondered whether she had revealed too much in hinting that she had been asking after him, but it was too late now to take back her words. "You faced all enemies without hesitation."

"If she were an enemy I would know exactly how to face her. She was something else entirely to me." All traces of levity left his expression as he clenched his jaw and wrinkled his brow. "I…I have no experience with this type of problem."

Yávewen took a deep breath, more certain than ever that her advice was sound. Haldir needed to confront Elurín's daughter and make peace with her so that he could put the matter behind him. "Yet this problem, like all the others you have faced and conquered, will defeat you only if you let it. Do not let this unresolved business mar the rest of your life."

Haldir laughed brusquely. "You really are something," he said with a smile that was ruggedly handsome and completely charming. "I can see why so many come to the tavern to unburden themselves to you. Even if the advice received is a bitter brew to swallow."

She gave him a cheeky grin. "People always say that when they know I am right."

He laughed again, a big and bold sound full of relief that set her heart soaring. "Very well, my stubborn, feisty friend. It will be as you suggest."

Yávewen was simultaneously pleased that she had been able to make him laugh and devastated that he would soon be seeing the object of his affection. _She_ wanted to be the object of his affection, she admitted to herself. As she gazed at him she became more certain that she would soon say or do something foolish if she remained in his confusing, exhilarating presence. She needed to be away so that she could breathe freely again and recover her equilibrium. "I should go. It is getting late."

He stood and pulled her to her feet, surprising her when he gave her a tight hug. "I am glad you visited me today."

"You are welcome," she said with an uncharacteristically tentative smile. "Thank you for the fish. I hope you will return to the tavern soon. I miss you." The last words tumbled out almost by accident, but she meant them so she refused to regret saying them.

Haldir's reaction caused the blood to sing in her veins. His silver eyes softened, a look of warm affection in them that nearly made her melt as he reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "You have brightened my mood today, my friend, and I thank you. I will see you soon."

In spite of her lingering worries about what would happen when Haldir came face to face with his former intended, Yávewen decided that she would concentrate for the moment on the way his arms had surrounded her and pressed her to his chest. On the smooth strands of his hair that slid through his fingers when she raised her hand to return his embrace. On the proud smile he wore when she made her first catch and the warm, throaty sound of his laughter when he allowed it to rise through the air. Her spirit felt so light that she was unsure her feet actually touched the ground on her way home.

TBC…

1_The Silmarillion_, pg 275-276. (Boiling this way down in the interests of space, but if you haven't read it, you should!) In a time of great need, Eärendil and Elwing (Elrond's parents) went to Aman. Eärendil's task was to ask the Valar to help Men and Elves in their struggles. Eärendil was not supposed to enter the Blessed Realm and the penalty for ignoring the rules was death. However, because of the selfless nature of his errand, the Valar made an exception: While Eärendil and Elwing would not be allowed to "walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands," to them "and to their sons, shall be given leave each to choose freely to which kindred their fates shall be joined, and under which kindred they shall be judged," (275).

Elwing chose to be counted among the Eldar, and her husband made the same choice for her sake. But, because they were not allowed to return to their home, the Valar "took Vingilot (Eärendil's ship), and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven. Now fair and marvelous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with the dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril (the same one his wife took with her when her home was destroyed and her brothers captured) was bound upon his brow. Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world," (276). ("Space…the final frontier. These are the voyages of…" never mind. Ahem.)

2_Ibid_, pg 41. "Ulmo is the Lord of Waters…He dwells nowhere long, but moves as he will in all the deep waters about the Earth or under the Earth."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Reunion**

_Several weeks later…_

Haldir approached the little beachside cottage with trepidation. He had heard during his one brief foray into town after Yávewen's visit that the Lord Elrond had taken in newly arrived relatives, and understood immediately where Isilmei had gone to dwell. It had been more than a month since she arrived in the Blessed Realm, and for a while Haldir was too busy wallowing in his black despair to seek her out. He reluctantly admitted that Yávewen's advice was sound, yet still he had hesitated; until he finally grew disgusted with his own lack of fortitude and steeled his nerves for the trek to Lord Elrond's estate.

It was late afternoon when he topped the last hill and saw his destination before him. The coastline rose to small cliffs on either side of a modest stretch of beach, giving the area a cozy privacy. He had intended to approach the sprawling manor house until he noticed a solitary chair perched upon the sands just shy of gently lapping waves. In it sat the very one he had come to face.

Haldir's heart lurched within his chest when he spotted her, though he was glad when he cast his gaze toward the manor house and its small adjoining cottage that both appeared quiet. He had no idea what to say to Isilmei, or what she would say to him, so he preferred that they have the chance to speak privately. It seemed that the Valar were willing to grant him at least this small favor. Taking a deep breath, he began his descent toward the water.

A narrow walking path guided his steps toward the cottage, which looked open and inviting. Skirting the edge of a driftwood fence bordering a small garden plot, he made his way toward the ocean. The sun was beginning to sink into the west behind him, causing the sky to glow in shades of pink and orange.

Isilmei sat with her back to the cottage, propped up on a lounging chair with her bare toes in the sand. The surf and the stiff sea breeze must have concealed the sound of his footsteps, he thought, for she did not turn at his approach.

As he drew closer to her he realized with a start that she wore his combs in her hair. His heart stopped at the sight as he was assailed by memories of the night he gave them to her, of her joyful smile when she first beheld them.

He was unaware of it, but he must have made some utterance when he saw his gift because finally she turned to look at him. The remaining rays of sunshine spotlighted her face when she glanced over her shoulder and froze as she recognized him. In that instant Haldir could see just how very ill she was – her natural radiance was nearly extinguished.

His mind again flew back in time to the night he declared himself. Before he had presented his suit, they enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the city. As they crossed over a bridge, light from the full moon had found her and his breath caught in his throat at the way she glowed before him. Yet today in the sunlight she looked nearly gray. He wanted to run forward and embrace her, but his feet refused to take another step. When he tried to speak he found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Much had changed about her even though she had lost none of her power to rob him of his composure.

Her eyes grew round in her face, her supple mouth opening as she drew in a surprised breath. Her own emotions seemed to be as conflicted as his, for both joy and despair flashed in her eyes. He could not help noticing the rings underneath them, purple bruises staining her translucent skin. They did not belong on her. He stared, unable to speak or move until she broke his trance.

"You made me a promise, Haldir. Yet you did not come." There was no anger, only pain in her accusation.

"I did," he whispered hoarsely.

"You were not there."

He struggled to recover his voice. "I was."

"I looked for you," she insisted. "I thought your absence meant you were still within the Halls."

"I came," he said as he cast his eyes briefly toward the sand before once again meeting her troubled gaze. "I could not stay."

Genuine confusion marred her smooth features. "Why not?"

He did not like the strain evident in her face as she held herself up on one elbow to look back at him. "You should not contort yourself so in the chair," he admonished gently. "May I join you?"

She nodded, refusing to take her eyes off him as he quickly retrieved another chair from the garden fence and brought it over to sit next to her. He eased his long frame down as he studied her and worry soured his stomach. She looked terrible.

"Answer me." Her demand was quiet and full of authority, her tone reminiscent of the Lady Galadriel. Haldir marveled at how much she had matured since he had last seen her.

For a long moment he said nothing as frustration, confusion, worry, and longing all boiled within his heart. "I…I did not want to interfere. Your family was there. And your husband's family." He tried to say the words casually, but she was quick to pick up on his minute hesitation.

Her face flooded with anger. "I did as you asked! As you made me _promise_ to do."

"I know," he said in a voice gone rough from too much emotion.

"And it was _hard_!"

She was crying. He reached across the space between them to grip her hand in both of his. When her shoulders began to shake, he went to her, kneeling in the sand before her and pulling her into a gentle embrace. He held her as close as her profoundly swollen stomach would allow.

As quickly as the emotional storm came, it passed. She sniffled against his shoulder. "I needed my friend. I still do."

He was glad that she could not see his face, for he did not want her to know how much pain her words caused him. He had promised her long ago that she would always be able to count upon his friendship no matter what else happened between them. He wanted to keep that promise, but he found that once he had grown to love her, the word _friend_ was sadly insufficient. And yet it was all of her he would ever have. Because she kept a promise he had begged her to make.

He hated himself nearly as much as he hated their situation in that moment. He rubbed soothing circles down her back as he fought with his emotions, with the uncharacteristic tears that pricked the backs of his eyelids. She had done as he asked, and he _would_ find a way to do as she asked as well. His honor would not allow him to withdraw his friendship simply because it was now harder to extend than he ever could have imagined. When he managed to gain sufficient control of his voice, he spoke against her hair. "You have me, sweetling. As you ever have."

She relaxed against him with a deep sigh and a sniffle. Her arms held him against her, though much of her strength seemed to have left her. In spite of her belly she felt so brittle in his arms, so fragile. So small.

After a long moment she leaned against the back of her chair and closed her eyes, yet she continued to hold onto his hand. He studied her face and felt his concern grow for something was terribly wrong here. "What is it that ails you?"

She shook her head as she opened her eyes to look at him. "Not even Lord Elrond knows." She shrugged one shoulder and tried to affect a lighter tone as she said, "It may just be that my body lacks the strength to carry twins."

He did not think it a matter to make light of, but he refrained from commenting as he knew her well enough to know that she was far more worried than she tried to appear. "Ah," he said when he realized she had said _'twins.'_ He tried not to laugh at his reaction. "That explains…" He was unsure how to finish what he started to say, but remembered hearing that it was unwise to upset an expectant mother, so he let the thought drift away.

She surprised him when she laughed for him. "The enormity of my stomach, yes. I was not so huge and ungainly the first time."

Haldir felt his brow wrinkle as he continued to study her. "Was your pregnancy with your son difficult as well?"

"No, not at all." Her eyes drifted toward the water as she recalled what was obviously an easier time. "I felt good, I was happy. I worked in the healing wards until just a few days before delivering him." She lifted a hand to absently stroke her belly. "This pregnancy has been different almost from the beginning."

Haldir thought he began to understand why she had come when she did as he eased himself back into his chair. Their joined hands linked them across the sand. "Is that what brought you here?"

She nodded as she watched the waves lap at the shore not far from their feet. The tide was coming in and would soon reach them, but he determined that he would see to it she stayed dry and warm as the air cooled around them. There was precious little else he could do to help her in her current distress.

"I had a vision, and knew that if I failed to reach Aman before my time came, one or more of us would not survive. And so I told Legolas that I had to sail."

His heart was in his throat when he asked, "Will you be alright?"

"We think so." She gave him a feeble smile. "I just have to get the three of us through these last few weeks."

Seeing her so vulnerable and fragile made him rethink his notion that finding her alone was a boon. Should she not be guarded day and night in her condition? What if something happened and no one was around to help her? "Where is the rest of your family? Why are you alone?"

"They went into town, but they will be back soon." He noticed unhappily that she ignored his second question. She smiled as she changed the subject. "I want you to meet my son. He is a good boy."

"Of that I have no doubt," he told her softly. She had been such a sweet elfling herself that there was no question that any youngling she raised would be kind-hearted and gentle.

Her eyes, piercingly blue in the afternoon light, found his face once more. She seemed to drink him in as she gazed at him. He squeezed her hand as a small smile continued to play at the corners of her mouth. "I have letters for you, and for your parents. Do you see them often?"

Haldir lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Yes. They are only a few leagues away. Letters from whom?" A sweeping longing and hope unfurled in his heart. "My brothers?"

She sent him into the house with directions to the main bedroom located at the rear of the cottage. He could not help studying her home as he passed through it, his senses quickly taking in the inviting den which led into a sunny dining nook on the way toward the sleeping quarters. Opening the door she had indicated, Haldir found himself in a modestly-sized chamber – large enough for comfort, but certainly not grand.

The bedroom, as the rest of the cottage, was simply appointed with pieces displaying marvelous artistry. The walls and ceilings had been washed with colors reminiscent of sand, sea, and sky. Cloud-white sheers hung in front of a wide set of double doors. The effect was both welcoming and peaceful, encouraging him to relax and restore his wounded spirit. As the curtains wafted in the breeze he could see Lord Elrond's impressive home rising up from the hillside like a cresting wave. Just beside the doors sat a white cradle, carefully crafted and large enough for two infants. Clearly Isilmei and Legolas were ready for their twins' arrival. Haldir's gut twisted at the thought even as he tried to shove the feeling aside.

She had told him to look for the chest with three large shells sitting atop it. He moved them aside and lifted the lid, his sharp gaze quickly falling upon the satchel she had described. He removed it from the chest before returning the pair of pink-throated conch shells and a sun-bleached starfish to their perch. As he made his way back to Isilmei's side he decided that her home felt quite a bit more settled than his own, even though he had been living in his little shack for months before she arrived. Someone had clearly put much love and care into furnishing this home, and he doubted that in her current condition she had been the one to do it. Yet someone who knew her well had created an environment that echoed the gentle warmth of her spirit. That thought settled heavily in the pit of his stomach as he rejoined her.

Haldir placed the leather satchel in Isilmei's lap before stooping to lift her – chair and all – and carry her away from the sea foam which had begun to lap at her toes. She squealed in surprise as he picked up her chair, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck to maintain her balance. The sound of her laughter made him smile. He settled her gently upon the sands before retrieving his own chair and returning to her side.

She handed him a stack of letters, each folded over and sealed with wax. He sorted through them to separate those addressed to him from those addressed to his parents. Orophin's tall, precise characters were easy to recognize, as were the bolder, less careful strokes of Rúmil. He held up a third letter to examine the delicate scrawl of an unknown author.

"That one is from Míril, Orophin's wife," Isilmei explained as she accurately deduced the questioning rise of his eyebrow.

"Orophin is bonded?" Haldir said in amazement. When last he had seen his brothers, the concept of matrimony was so foreign to them that they were having a hard time understanding Haldir's sudden desire to bond. If Orophin had married, was it possible that Rúmil had taken a mate as well? _'Surely not! That would be…inconceivable.'_

Isilmei smiled. "Yes, and his wife is wonderful. She and Rúmil's wife and I have all become very good friends."

Her comment caused his jaw to drop. Rúmil? _Married?_ His fingers quickly found his younger brother's letter and broke the seal.

_Haldir,_

_I hope this finds you well. Ai, by the Valar, I hope this finds you._

Haldir could not help chuckling, for he could hear Rúmil's ironic tone of voice as clearly as if his little brother were sitting in the sands next to him.

_For some reason I feel certain that if anyone can ensure this makes its way into your hands it will be Isil. When she told me that she was leaving for the Undying Lands, my first thought was of you. Where are you? And what has transpired in your life since last we saw each other? Are you well? Are you happy?_

_You may not believe this, but Isil can vouch for the truth of it – I married. I thought of you often when I met Duvainil, because I was sure you would find the situation as hilarious as Orophin did considering how I behaved in Lothlorien. I loved her from the moment I first saw her. It took realizing the depth of my passion for her – that there was nothing I would not do to be with her and to see her happy – for me to understand the way you loved Isilmei. I wish I could apologize to you in person for being such a thorn in your side during that time, but until I see you again this note will have to suffice. I understand now._

_There is much I understand that you tried to tell me and I wish I had done a better job of listening when I had the opportunity. Do not, however, mistakenly assume that I will follow all of your dictates without question when next we meet. I remain quite myself, after all. Still, I think you will find that I have matured since you saw me last. At least, my wife says I have. She is miraculous, Haldir. I cannot wait for you to meet her. She is beautiful beyond compare and, for reasons that defy logic, she loves me._

_Here is the part you may find most amusing of all: We have four sons. Each of them is louder and more opinionated than his predecessor. Orophin says they are even more of a handful than I was at their age, though undoubtedly he exaggerates. My eldest, Túchon, reminds me so much of you. His heart is unflinchingly noble and his strength of character guides his steps just as yours has always done. He has my passion combined with his naneth's good sense, thank the Valar. I am prouder of him, of them all, than I can say. His younger brothers look up to him with the same steadfast trust and adoration with which I have always looked up to you – my brother, my captain._

_I cannot wait to see you again, and to introduce you to my family. My sons have heard much about you from me and their Uncle Orophin and will probably greet you like an old friend. Consider yourself forewarned for they are a boisterous lot._

_We have not yet set a date for our parting from these shores. The Golden Wood has long since faded as it did not survive the Lady's absence. Orophin and I, along with our wives, joined an effort to restore the forests of Ithilien after the Dark Lord was defeated. Our eldest brother has finally stepped into the position of authority that you always predicted he would. Phin has become leader of Elven Ithilien with the departure of Lord Legolas. He is now Lord Orophin, if you can believe that! I do my best to ensure that his title and status do not go to his head. _

_Duvainil and I are in agreement that we will wait until our work here is through and Orophin is free to leave with his family before we seek the Straight Road. We will all be together in the Blessed Realm someday. Phin and I both hope that you are enjoying all the blessings of Aman with Naneth and Adar, and we look forward to the day when our family is reunited._

_May the Valar bless you and keep you,_

_Rúmil_

Haldir felt Isilmei's gentle gaze on him as he read the letter and did not bother trying to hide the moisture gathering in his eyes as he read his brother's words. How much had he missed in his brothers' lives since he entered Mandos? What adventures could they have shared together if he had not been summoned? If he had remained in Middle-earth, would he and Isilmei have made the journey to Ithilien as well?

He blinked through his tears as he glanced up at Isilmei to see her understanding smile. She had long been one of a select few with whom he could lower his guard, and she would not think less of him for his undignified display of emotion. Isilmei took one of his hands in hers as he lowered the missive to his lap. The warmth and compassion in her eyes was the balm he needed in that moment and he squeezed her hand in silent gratitude.

"It seems Phin was right," he said when he finally trusted himself to speak.

"He usually is," she said with a mischievous grin which reminded him of the girl she used to be. "But to what specifically do you refer?"

Haldir returned her smile with one of his own. "My elder brother predicted that in time you and Rúmil would become friends. That seems to have happened in Ithilien."

Her grin broadened. "It began in Imladris, but it grew once we had all settled in Ithilien together. I consider myself fortunate to have the friendship of both your brothers and their families. In time I would love to tell you about them, but I suspect you would like to read their letters first. If you look in Míril's letter, I believe you will find a note from your nephew Calenor. He is only a little older than my son. The two of them were inseparable."

Haldir's gaze strayed from Isilmei to the ocean as a longing wistfulness swelled in his heart. He tried to imagine a small boy whose features resembled Orophin's and nearly smiled at the thought. Yet melancholy tugged at his spirit despite his best efforts to avoid becoming maudlin. He tightened his grip on her fingers and was about to agree with her suggestion that he read his family's words before hearing more when a high, thin voice accompanied by the sound of swift-moving feet reached their ears.

"Nana!"

Legolas followed his son, smiling as he watched Belion's small frame dart sure-footedly toward the beach. Watching Belion experience the world around him had been a favorite activity for Legolas and his wife since their son's awareness first developed. The simple, pure delight Belion found in each new discovery never failed to bring his parents joy.

Today's foray into town had been no exception. Belion was full of observations and questions about Avallónë, many of which he was disappointed to learn his father could not answer. On the way home the boy had chattered excitedly as he detailed everything he wanted to tell his mother about and had hopped out of the cart to race to her side as soon as Legolas reined the horse to a halt outside their home. Legolas and Gimli had both laughed at the elfling's antics before separating – Legolas to check on Isilmei while Gimli began unloading the cart.

The sight awaiting his eyes when he reached the beach caused Legolas's jaw to clench tight. Not one but two chairs sat facing the ocean. An ellon with a tall, straight back and a fall of white-blond hair sat next to Isilmei, and for some reason Legolas was sure that it was not her father who kept her company. Their hands were joined across the short distance between them.

Belion had reached his mother's side and Isilmei released the ellon's hand to embrace the boy. He threw his short arms around her neck and hugged her with all his might, drawing a smile from his mother even as a look of pain flashed across her features before she could suppress it. Belion, bless him, had a hard time remembering that too much exuberance could hurt his mother in her current condition. Legolas lengthened his stride, eager to intervene and learn what exactly had transpired on the beach in his absence. He reached out to Isilmei through their bond and felt the happiness that suffused her spirit wash over him like a warm tide as her bright blue eyes met his over the top of their son's head.

Legolas's sure stride faltered when he felt her joy and drew close enough to realize the identity of her companion. It was none other than Haldir, former Marchwarden of Lothlorien – the first ellon to whom his wife had pledged her troth.

Legolas's heart plummeted when he realized that this was the first time she had seemed truly content in weeks. As the time of bearing neared and her health continued to decline, she grew more worried and withdrawn. He had done everything he could think of to ease her fears and make her smile, and he knew that she tried to be of good cheer for his sake. But her concern for their daughters and her fears regarding their delivery had cast a pall over her spirit. She was deeply afraid that something would happen and she would lose one or both of their girls, and she had already determined that it would be entirely her fault if anything went wrong during her ordeal. Legolas had his own concerns, which centered on Isilmei's health and ability to survive her labor in her fragile state. He could not help thinking back to his early youth when his own mother had lost his sister. His naneth's body had taken a long time to recover, yet her spirit had never fully healed so she left them behind and sailed away. He had brought Isilmei to Aman to prevent such a tragedy from happening, but what if something terrible happened anyway?

It saddened Legolas to realize that lately he and his wife had fallen into a pattern in which each of them tried to be light-hearted, but neither of them was able to hide their worries from the other. And yet here she was; her cares momentarily cast aside as she sat next to Haldir.

Legolas had not realized until this moment that he had been dreading this meeting. He knew his wife loved him but could not help the barb of jealousy that pierced his heart when he saw Isilmei and Haldir together. He vowed that henceforth he would not allow opportunity for any more unannounced, unchaperoned visits.

"Who are you?" Belion asked when he paused in his recitation of the town's many exciting features to study Haldir. His head tilted to one side in a gesture that was so like his mother's it made Legolas's heart melt.

"Belion, manners!" Isilmei chided. Legolas noted that Haldir wore an amused smile as he gazed at the elfling.

"Sorry," the little one said as his gaze sank toward his toes.

Haldir glanced at Isilmei. "He has your eyes."

She smiled broadly as she wrapped an arm about the boy's shoulders. "Belion, my love, this is Haldir. He is a good friend of mine, and he is also Calenor's uncle."

Belion's chagrin evaporated as his eyes shot back to Haldir's face for suddenly Haldir became more fascinating than the trip to town. Isilmei again met Legolas gaze over the top of the boy's head as Belion began questioning Haldir. Her smile quickly faded when she saw the tight set of Legolas's jaw as he closed the gap between them. He felt her spirit reach for his, her presence a reassuring warmth next to his heart that began soothing his annoyance. But not by much.

"Are you kin to Auntie Míril or Uncle Orophin?"

"Orophin is my elder brother." Haldir looked at the boy with patient warmth in his eyes and an inviting smile upon his face.

"Then you are kin to Uncle Rúmil too?"

"Indeed I am. He is my younger brother."

"I am going to be an elder brother too, Uncle Haldir," Belion told him. "We are having sisters, but I would rather have brothers instead."

Haldir's eyes widened in surprise as his gaze lifted to meet Isilmei's and Legolas could feel her amusement as she waved off the unintended slight. "His preference for brothers is well known and frequently expressed," she laughed. "Calenor and his younger sister, Indilwen, were going through a bout of sibling rivalry when we left. Belion is concerned that he and his sisters will not like each other." She ran a hand through her son's hair to detangle it, but he pulled away before she could loosen the knot. "But I believe that they will."

Legolas reached Isilmei's side and put a hand on her shoulder. She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers as she favored him with the brightest smile he had seen from her in days. He would have sighed in contentment when she nestled her chin atop their joined hands except for his lingering disquiet at the former Marchwarden's presence beside his wife. He felt slightly mollified when she threaded their fingers together and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"Nana, I am hungry."

Apparently Belion had no more interest in discussing his sisters. One corner of Legolas's mouth twitched upward at his son's voracious appetite. In the months since they arrived in Avallónë, the boy had gone through a growth spurt which showed no signs of abating.

"Go on in to the house, son," Isilmei said as she gave up trying to straighten his hair. "I will fix our supper shortly."

With a happy wave Belion scampered back up the path to await his meal.

As soon as Belion was out of sight, Legolas's eyes locked on Haldir's. It took no more than an instant for a flash of understanding to flare in the Galadhel's steady gray gaze. Legolas detected the minutest of nods before Haldir stood and it was only then that Legolas noticed the folded letters in Haldir's hand.

"I shall take my leave." Haldir said somewhat stiffly. His expression softened when he looked down at Isilmei and gave her a tiny bow. "Thank you for these."

She smiled warmly at him. "I hope to see you soon."

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he glanced down at his wife but her gaze continued to follow Haldir's retreating form until she felt the wave of discontent Legolas made no attempt to hide.

She turned worried eyes up to him. "Legolas?"

"How long was he here?" Legolas demanded.

Her eyes grew wide at his harsh tone. "Not more than an hour. What…"

"Why did he come here?" He did not want to be short or angry with her, but he could not deny his frustration at seeing her so much happier with the Galadhel than he had been able to make her himself in recent days. He was her _husband_, and he loved her so very much. Suddenly he wondered if settling in Avallónë had been a mistake. Perhaps they should have accepted his father's offer of lodging in Kôrtirion.

"To see me," she said quietly.

He felt her desire to assuage him and pulled that feeling close to his heart even as he continued venting his irritation. "Why did he come? Did he know about the letters?"

"No. He came because we are friends." A heavy exhaustion settled once again over her spirit as she gripped his fingers and tugged on his hand. He stepped around so that she could look into his face without craning her neck at an uncomfortable angle. Her joy quickly faded as she took in his sour expression and the depth of his annoyance, yet there was a flash of fire in her eyes that told him she would be sorely angry at him if only she had the energy to argue.

Legolas experienced a brief wave of guilt that his reaction to seeing Haldir destroyed her happiness, but in spite of his best effort he was not yet ready to let go of his pique. "He was quite a bit more than your _friend_, Isil."

"Legolas…" Her tone was disappointed and suggested she thought he was being ridiculous.

He _wanted_ to put her needs above his own, truly he did, but he was so focused on his own frustration that he could not quite manage it. "I do not want him here."

Annoyance flashed through the depths of her eyes and her spirit as she stared at him. "From whence does this come? Jealousy is unlike you. And most unbecoming."

A silent moment stretched between them as he refused to say more and she struggled to understand his feelings. Through their marital bond Legolas could feel both Isilmei's churning emotions and the alarm of the twins within her as they absorbed their mother's darkening mood.

"He was my friend for all my life before…"

The hopeful, pleading note in her voice trailed off at the sharp look Legolas gave her. "You promised yourself to him."

"And the promise was unfulfilled, and unmade," she insisted with furled brow and adamant tone. "Do not forget that the promise I kept was the one I made to _you_."

He studied her for a moment as the roiling emotions they both felt flooded their bond.

"Legolas, listen to me," she entreated. "I am your bondmate. I belong with _you_. I bore _your_ son, and I carry _your_ daughters."

He gripped her fingers as he felt the truth of her words, the surety of him and their bond that she carried deep within her spirit.

"Look into my heart and feel my love for you, my husband. I told you once long ago that you had become the center of the world to me. You are my center still, and you always will be." Her voice was soft and relayed her conviction as clearly as the emotional connection they shared. "Nothing could ever change that."

Legolas finally relented as he bent to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her to her feet. He held her against him as tightly as he could without causing her or their daughters discomfort. _"Mine,"_ he whispered hoarsely as he leaned his head down to hers. Without further preamble he took her lips fiercely.

"Yours," she breathed when he ended the kiss. "Joyfully."

His expression softened as he caressed the side of her face, finally reassured of her affections. He drew in a breath to apologize for upsetting her but was preempted by the mighty kick she received in her belly. Isilmei grasped her stomach and doubled over, clutching Legolas's forearm with one hand.

"Isil!" His arms came around her once more, one behind her back and the other supporting her stomach as pain flared through their connection.

"This one is a warrior," she gasped. "She punishes me when my emotions disturb her."

Legolas hated the helplessness that surged through him when he could do nothing other than hold her and wait for the pain to subside. He was unused to helplessness, and the feeling distressed him more than he would ever be able to admit to his wife.

Isilmei rested her head against his chest and worked to steady her breathing. "I worry for the other one," she confessed quietly. "I have not felt her move in days."

Legolas fought back a wave of anxiety as he searched his mind for a logical explanation. In moments such as these, when she revealed some concern or problem that she had previously concealed, the distance between their home and Lord Elrond's seemed insurmountably large even though he could run it in a few minutes. He sought for any notion that would bring his wife peace as he mentally planned to seek the elder's counsel as soon as she was settled and comfortable. "Is it possible that our warrior moves about enough to keep you from feeling her sister?"

Isilmei shot him a look that indicated the same thought had already occurred to her. "That is the only notion which gives me any hope right now." Her blue eyes pleaded with his, looking so lost and vulnerable that he tightened his arms about her. "I want to hold them both in my arms, and I want them to be healthy and whole when I do."

He bent and swiftly pulled her into his arms, hugging her to his chest as he sat down on the chair with his wife in his lap. "Sit with me a moment until the twins settle. Let me hold you."

She nestled her forehead against his neck, her breath warm and soft against his collar bone, as they gazed together toward the ocean.

As Legolas replayed recent events in his mind, he realized that this was not the first time that an ellon had acted possessively where his wife was concerned. He could not help chuckling at the way events worked themselves round and round again. "You know," he admitted, "I suppose there is an odd closing of the circle here."

She lifted her questioning gaze to his face. "What do you mean?"

He was smiling as he kissed her temple. "Do you remember the night we first met? In Lorien?"

"Yes. It was the night the Fellowship arrived in the city. We were introduced at table." The question in her bright blue gaze was clear.

"And later on, I was in the garden with thoughts of our quest heavy on my mind and you appeared like a vision in the moonlight."

She smiled, clearly not understanding where he was headed but endearingly willing to follow his lead. "I remember that we spoke of Mithrandir."

He nodded. "I do not remember exactly what I said, but I remember that at one point, I looked up and you were in tears." His eyes left the ocean and found hers before he continued. "I felt guilty for I thought I had laid my burdens upon you unfairly when your heart was already troubled by Mithrandir's loss."

"I remember," she whispered. "You said as much."

"When I looked up and discovered that you had tears in your eyes, I raised my hand to brush them away just as Haldir stepped into the garden."

She nodded as she raised a hand to toy with the fastenings at his neck. "Yes, I remember that too."

"There was something in his face, Isil," he explained. "Something hard that made me lower my hand, as though I had been wrong to touch you. Something jealous and…dangerous. Something…that said he would protect you with his life if needed to keep me or anyone else from touching you."

"What do you mean?" Isilmei lifted her eyes to his as her fingers curled into his shirt.

Legolas felt his understanding deepen as he expanded his line of thought. "I mean that he was in love with you, and somehow I saw that he guarded you covetously even then." He stroked her hip as he gazed at her. "And now _I_ am the one who loves you. And it pained me to see you holding his hand today. I reacted badly, I admit, territorially and with jealousy, when someone else had his hands upon the one whom I love above all others. Especially when that someone else used to claim you as his own."

Her expression was horrified and full of sorrow. "Legolas, I am sorry. I never meant to…"

He tilted his head to kiss the tip of her nose. "I know, love. I can feel your love for me as strongly as I know you feel my love for you. It just upset me, but I apologize for distressing you. I worry for you, though I do not want to tell you so as not to increase your burden. I too long to hold our daughters, but above all I long for the health and happiness of you, my love, for you are the other half of me. I no longer know how to be myself without you."

"We will find our way through this, Legolas," she said in a voice full of encouraging resolution. "I swear to you that we will. If you will help me, we will all find our way together."

"Then we are agreed," he said with a smile.

When their lips met in a heartfelt, reassuring kiss, he could feel that her spirit had settled. The infants within her had calmed as well and he felt soothed and reassured. This was _his_ family, and nothing would ever change that. "Are you ready to go in?"

"Yes, but I am not sure I am steady enough to prepare a meal. Would you…"

"Rest easy, love. I will prepare our supper."

As he stood she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and snuggled her face into the side of his neck as she rubbed her belly. He smiled when Isilmei kissed his throat and cheek, tickling his earlobe with her nose. "Thank you, Legolas," she whispered. "You are so good to me."

"Always." He kissed the top of her head as fatigue began to claim her, deciding then and there that he would not let her out of his sight until the twins arrived.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Transition

Arassel woke to golden sunshine pouring in the through the wide windows of her bower. She smiled at the luxurious feeling of sleeping late, stretched lazily, and rolled over to find her bedmate still deep in reverie.

She paused for a moment to study her husband as she often did when she woke first, taking in the prominent brow, sharp nose, and determined chin that contributed to his imposing appearance. The dark sweep of his lashes and the wide, slanted brows that narrowed to points at his temples. The fine softness of the pale hair framing his face which was so pleasing beneath her fingers. Her eyes lowered to his mouth, which could look so harsh and yet so inviting by turns. He had the same air of barely-controlled danger about him he had worn the day they met, and the sight of him stirred her blood as much now as it had when she had first fallen in love with him.

She lifted her hand to trace the contours of his lips with feather-light fingers. He was a study in contrasts, her husband – soft and hard, tender and tough, harsh and kind, hot and cold all combined into one enthralling package. And she loved him more than she could possibly express.

He smiled languidly, stretching like a cat as his startlingly blue eyes cleared of sleep's haze. His arms moved almost faster than she could register as he pulled her close and caged her to his chest. He growled low in his throat as he wove his fingers into her hair and kissed her soundly.

"Good morning, my love," he said in the tone of voice she adored – husky and low and heard only when he first woke. She loved being the only one in his life who heard him speak this way.

She smiled at him, her happiness knowing no bounds as she leaned in to kiss him again. "Good morning."

Arassel rested her head on his chest and savored the feeling of his skilled hands caressing her back as he held her. In the years since he had joined her in Aman, she had savored having him to herself. When they met he had been a close advisor to his father the King. Being courted by the Crown Prince had nearly overwhelmed her for she felt too plain and simple an elleth to match the glamorous, powerful scion, but in time the force of their love had been too powerful to deny. When she became his wife her life had become a whirlwind of formal engagements and informal customs that often conspired to keep her apart from her husband. She understood that he had important duties, and that the father he idolized depended upon him, but she never felt like she had enough time with him. It was almost as though she had to cheat time to see her own husband.

Things grew even more hectic after their firstborn arrived. Eventually they were gifted with a second elfling, but then Arassel's time with her husband was even scantier as what little time they had together focused on their young. She often went to bed by herself at night, exhausted from her duties and lonely because her husband's responsibilities kept him out until the wee small hours. She spent more time pining for him than she spent with him.

And then her third infant – the daughter she had longed to have – died within a few days of her birth, and Arassel had barely seen her husband at all anymore. He had withdrawn into affairs of the realm to avoid his pain and she had felt all alone as she mourned their lost elfling. Eventually it had all become too much for her, and her choice had been to fade or leave her husband and sons behind to seek the solace of the Blessed Realm. It had been an excruciating choice because she wanted her family to sail with her, but her husband was adamant that he would not abandon his people and that their boys would be raised to assume their princely duties just as he had been. So, feeling more alone than ever but convinced she had no other choice, Arassel sailed.

She pushed away the heartache that she always felt when reflecting upon those wretched days and smoothed her hand across her husband's well-muscled chest. She had waited patiently in Aman for him to join her, and finally, after what seemed an interminable delay, he sailed. And now their son and his family were here as well. If only her firstborn would join them, her heart would finally be at peace.

"What occupies your thoughts this morning, my love? You seem distant." His long fingers deftly carded through her hair as he spoke.

"I was just thinking about how nice it is to have you all to myself," she said as she glanced up, not wanting to rehash old hurts on such a lovely morning. "I like being the focus of your attention."

One dark eyebrow lifted suggestively as a smile tugged at his mouth. "What kind of _attention_ does my queen require this morning?"

She waggled her eyebrows playfully, her gaze catching the spirited light in his impossibly blue eyes. She was smiling as her lips met his.

When she drew away from him, his sharp eyes continued to study her face. "There is something else. Not all of your thoughts are happy ones this morning. Tell me."

She sighed, for as usual he knew her heart. "Ai, I was just thinking about days gone by." She lowered her head to his chest to kiss his flawless skin, but he stopped her by placing his fingertips under her chin and gently lifting her gaze back to his.

"I have been thinking about them too. I regret certain aspects of our previous life. I did not always take as much care of you as I should have."

"You had duties," she said, hating the wrinkle of remorse that furrowed his smooth brow and the pain in his voice. "I understood that."

He shook his head. "I had a beautiful wife who loved me even when I was distant and inattentive. I had elflings I scarcely saw." He stroked her face tenderly, tracing the curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips and making a shiver of excitement zip down her spine even as his words reminded her of sad times. "I want to make up for old wrongs."

"You know I hold no grudge," she promised. "I am grateful that you are here with me now and that we are so happy together."

A warm light glowed in his eyes as he traced her chin. "I was thinking that we could be even happier if we had an elfling of our own. Perhaps a little girl."

Her eyes swelled with tears, for while she realized that he was trying to make her happy and she loved him for the effort, his words pained her. "Ai, Thranduil. We cannot change the past."

"Ara…"

"No," she said as she placed a finger on his lips to stop him. "The only elfling I want is the one I was not allowed to keep. We cannot go back in time and resurrect our infant."

"I apologize, my love," he said with pain in his eyes and sorrow in his voice. "I thought to make you happy, not cause you more distress."

"I know, and I love you for it," she rushed to reassure him. "But I believe we need to focus on what we have, not on what we lost." She propped herself up on her elbow so that she could look into his eyes more easily as she explained her thinking. "It was when I came to that realization that my heart finally began to heal. Our son is here now, with his adoring wife and their beautiful boy, and soon they will give us granddaughters to spoil." She smiled at him, hoping to coax a tiny smile from him. "Legolas loves Isilmei so dearly, and I can see his worry for her. He tries so hard to be strong for her, but he fears that he will be left alone to raise their elflings. He needs us."

Regret and frustration flashed in the depths of Thranduil's eyes. "He does not trust me to support him, otherwise they would have settled here with us instead of staying in Avallónë. I did no better at being there for the boys than I did for you, I fear. I would like to repair our relationship but…" he paused as he seemed to struggle for the right words before waving one regal hand in the air. "I confess I do not know how."

"We will offer them our support and our love and we will help them care for those three elflings," she told him with certainty. "Belion is quite taken with you. I would like for us to spend time getting to know him."

Thranduil's lean features finally relaxed as he smiled at the thought of their grandson. "He is an exceptional boy."

"He is. I see both you and Legolas in him."

He smiled at her affectionately as he ran one hand down her arm and twined their fingers together. "I was thinking that I see some of _you_ in him. Legolas has so much of your joyous spirit. He has passed on that part of you to his son."

Her heart swelled with happiness as she leaned down to kiss him.

Thranduil settled back against the pillows and pulled her to lie against him. "I believe I will quite like this grandparenting business," he reflected. "I can finally see what all the fuss is about."

Arassel laughed as she nodded her head in agreement. "It is like parenting, only better – all the fun with none of the discipline and responsibility."

"Isilmei's time nears. Would you like to go to Avallónë to be there for the births?"

"Yes!" She hugged him tightly, for she had hoped she would be able to talk him into making another trip to the port town.

Placing a kiss to her hair, he said, "Then thy will be done, my queen."

She laughed as she raised her head to study him. "You have changed since you came to Aman, Thranduil. I like this new version of you." She dropped a quick kiss against the end of his nose to reinforce her point.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I like having you all to myself and not having to share you with the entire kingdom."

His expression grew suddenly solemn. "Arassel, are you _sure_ you do not blame me for your past unhappiness? I often blame myself, and would understand if you do. But you never speak of it, and I wish that you would so that I may properly make amends."

"No, my love," she said gently, "I blame the Dark Lord and the times in which we lived, but I have never blamed you. You did the best you could in circumstances that were often terrible."

He closed his eyes and breathed out a deep sigh as though her words were a benediction he feared would be withheld.

"I have always," she said as she planted a line of kisses along his collar bone from shoulder to neck, "and will always, have the utmost faith in the goodness of your heart."

When he opened his eyes, the intensity of love and devotion in their depths nearly stole her breath. "I trust you to take care of my heart," he whispered, "because you have had ownership of it since the day we met."

She kissed him again, smiling against his lips as he untied the ribbon holding together her nightdress and pulled her against his body.

***/.\***

_A few days later…_

As much as she loved conversing with those who visited the tavern, Yávewen thought that this was perhaps her favorite time of all to be within its snug walls. The last patron had left for the night, and all that was left to do was finish straightening up the back pantry and blow out the lanterns.

Yávewen enjoyed the feeling of tired satisfaction she felt at the end of a long day. It made her spirit light to be of service to others, and she believed that she was often able to serve best by supplying the right vintage for each mood that walked through her doors. A listening ear and a carefully placed comment enhanced another's joy, or lessened another's sorrow, or eased a conflicted mind. At least, such was usually the case.

Recently she had come to realize that the most troubled mind in the tavern was her own. And yet Haldir's recent reappearance had eased her concerns somewhat. He was quiet, and more withdrawn than usual, but he was here. He spoke with others and smiled at their jokes and even made a few of his own. To Yávewen evidence of his wry sense of humor was the best sign of all that he was moving past his ill-fated love and settling into his new life here in Avallónë.

Her father had left some time ago to take his rest. Her ada was always the first of them to rise no matter how early she left her bed of a morn, and so it was only fair that he retired early and let her close the tavern. The walk home was familiar and pleasant even in the dark and her feet could make the oft-traveled journey as her mind wandered where it would. She was already planning a stop by her favorite pond when she hung the last wet dish in its place on the drying rack, blew out the candle, and stepped into the great room.

To her surprise a lone figure leaned casually against the bar. She paused, blinking rapidly in surprise at this unexpected turn of events. "Haldir, we are closed."

"I know," he said amicably. "I was here when you made the announcement. Or have you forgotten?"

She gave him a playful scowl. "No, but apparently you have. Or did you just forget your way home?"

"Hardly," he said with a wry lift of his eyebrow as he straightened and strode toward her.

She could not help noticing the predatory grace about him as he approached, the confidence evident in his shoulders, the ease of each movement. He had come a long way since his Return, and she thought she saw more and more of the Marchwarden in him – somewhat wary, keenly aware of his surroundings at all times, coiled to spring into action at the least notice. It was an odd state of constant-readiness for the relaxed seaside village, but one that sat naturally upon his shoulders. She suspected it was the only way of existence he knew and was certain it would be part of him for many years to come. Perhaps in time he would relax his guard and enjoy the peaceful pace of life offered by their town. Perhaps he was learning already, for there was a lazy ease in his smile as he looked down at her.

"If the lady would allow, I would escort her to her door," he said with a playful bow and a glint of mischief in his silver eyes.

Yávewen dropped a rough curtsy and accepted his outstretched elbow. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to help me extinguish the lamps…"

Together they blew out the last of the candles and exited the tavern. When she pulled the doors closed and turned to face him she found his arm extended once more with all courtly formality. _'More of the Marchwarden on display,'_ she guessed. She smiled when she placed her hand in the crook of his arm, feeling like a grand lady of the realm as they turned toward home. "What has inspired this sudden burst of courtesy?"

He shrugged a muscular shoulder. Was she wrong in her impression that he had grown even more robust in recent weeks? "It seemed a nice night for a walk. And I hardly had a moment with you all evening, so many were your supplicants."

She laughed, smiling cheekily at him as she looked up through her lashes. "Why, I have considered myself lucky just to have seen you these last few evenings. You were gone a while."

He assumed a look of mock-offense as his brows rose toward his hairline. "You must not have minded my absence too much, for we have exchanged no more than a few words in nearly a week."

She nodded solemnly and furrowed her brow as she pretended to ponder their situation seriously. She loved this playful side of him that peeked out so seldom and wished she could bring it forth more often. "So you decided that walking me home was the only way to talk to me?"

"I do like having you to myself."

His jocularity vanished, replaced by quiet sincerity, and Yávewen nearly stumbled at the intensity of her reaction to his honesty. She gripped his arm a bit more tightly to maintain her balance as she struggled to figure out what to make of his rapidly shifting moods. She would like nothing better than for him to have her all to himself, she thought, though surely he did not mean the words in the way she wished. She tried desperately to think of some witty rejoinder, but could come up with nothing. He had rendered her speechless.

"Yávewen," he placed his free hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow and gently squeezed her fingers, "after the friendship and wisdom you have shared with me since my arrival in Avallónë, is it really so surprising to learn that I count myself among your many admirers?"

She shook her head at his words, for they must have different understandings of 'wisdom.' What he seemed to count as sage counsel, she considered common sense. It overwhelmed her that this ellon she found so fascinating – who had seen and experienced so much more than she ever would – saw her as…something special perhaps. A warm sense of satisfaction spread through her veins as she glanced up at him. Or was it merely a blush at the intensity in his expression? "I…Well…What would you like to discuss then?"

"Nothing in particular," as said as he smiled that slightly crooked little smile that made her breath quicken. "But it is a nice evening for a walk, is it not?"

"You confuse me, Haldir," she confessed with a nervous chuckle.

To her consternation, he laughed. "My dear, I assure you that you are not the first to say so."

Yávewen let her gaze drift toward the moonlight reflecting off the ocean as the sea breeze cooled her heated cheeks. As they left the town behind them, cobblestone streets gave way to sandy paths between tall coastal grasses. She listened to the breeze rustle about them for a long moment, content to stroll beside Haldir and enjoy the night's beauty. It was a rather romantic place to be, she thought, her hopeful rumination coming to an abrupt end when she glanced up at Haldir's face. He seemed many leagues away, almost unaware of their surroundings as they walked along.

Eager to draw his attention back toward the moment, she said the first thing that came to mind. "Did I hear you mention leaving town?"

He nodded. "My adar is planning a trip to the mainland and has invited me to accompany him. He goes to visit relatives, some of whom I have never met."

"That sounds lovely," she said quietly. So he would be absent once again, she thought with a glum sense of resignation. "When do you leave?"

"He leaves with the next full moon, but I have not yet decided whether or not I shall go with him."

Yávewen studied his profile as they ascended a sloping hill. The moonlight reflecting off his pale hair brightened his glow and gave him an exotic look that she found impossibly beautiful. She was so distracted by his appearance that she nearly lost track of his words. "Why would you not go with him?"

He glanced away from her, seeming to look up at the moon as he pulled in a deep breath. "It is not a good time for me to travel."

She felt her lighthearted mood deflate as she began to dread what he would say next. She had a feeling she knew why he was reluctant to leave Avallónë, but had to ask the question to be sure.

"Why not?"

The sorrow in his face confirmed her suspicions. "My…friend is…unwell."

Yávewen quickly dropped her gaze toward the sand in hopes of keeping him from seeing how much she hated to hear mention of his former intended. "Then you have seen her."

"Yes." He must have expected her to say something, but she neither spoke nor looked at him as she quickened her pace. Suddenly she was anxious to reach her home, yet he pulled on her arm to get her to slow her pace. "Why do I sense you are displeased that I followed your advice?"

Yávewen sought briefly for some way to answer his question truthfully without giving too much away. She nearly laughed at the thought for there was nothing she could say in this moment that he was prepared to hear or was interested in hearing. And so she followed through with the question she felt he wanted her to ask. "What is wrong with her?"

"Her pregnancy is complicated. She carries twins that draw too heavily upon her." The pain in his voice was enough to make Yávewen's own heart lurch.

"Is it serious?"

"Very serious. Her fate is yet uncertain."

Yávewen's heart sank as she decided she would never be able to compete for Haldir's affection with the frail damsel in distress. No doubt she was also blindingly beautiful and perfectly skilled in everything she did. With a deep sigh of frustration and dread in her heart at his answer, Yávewen asked, "Have you spent much time with her?"

"I have only seen her once." Yávewen glanced up in surprise to find Haldir's silver eyes darkened to a smoky gray. "Her husband prefers that I keep my distance."

"So you wait nearby for news but are not able to join the rest of her friends and family at her side," she said as she silently asked herself, _'Could this situation be any more absurd?'_

"That is about the sum of it, yes," he said with a humorless laugh. "Elurín is now aware of my history with his daughter and is kind enough to let me know how she fares."

"This is a horrible situation from any angle, Haldir." She was nearly overwhelmed by her frustration at the unfairness of it all. "I have no words of wisdom for you. I…I simply do not know what to say."

They had reached her gate. Haldir sighed as he turned to face her and gave her the saddest of smiles as he took both her hands in his. "You need say nothing, my sweet friend. Thank you for listening." Without another word he kissed her on the cheek and strode off toward town.

The conversation had left her reeling and unsure of what she should think or how she should feel. She felt awful for Haldir, who loved an elleth he no longer had a right to love. And yet the facts of the matter could not necessarily dictate the feelings of the heart, now could they? For if logic and common sense were enough to rule one's heart, she would not feel the rush of happiness she felt each time Haldir appeared in the tavern, or the thrill she felt whenever he laughed, would she? She wondered briefly what he would say if she told him that she found herself in the very same predicament he faced, but she shoved the thought aside with a bitter laugh. Indulging in such thoughts was useless and silly, and she should know better.

She crept into the house, careful to step around the squeaky floorboard just inside the doorway. The very last thing she wanted in her current frame of mind was for her father to wake and decide to question her about her evening. Her father was right, she realized – Haldir had complicated her life immeasurably. And she had absolutely no idea what to do about any of it.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Arrivals**

Gimli had seen much with his friend Legolas, but this was something new. The day of Belion's birth Gimli had been in Rohan so he was not with his favorite Elf for that happy occasion. He thought with competing flashes of concern and amusement that Legolas had been more composed during their dark journey through Khazad-dûm than he was as he waited for the arrival of his daughters.

The four of them – Gimli, Legolas, and Legolas's parents – sat in a spacious sitting room attached to a guest suite within Lord Elrond's house. Well, not exactly. The lovely Lady Arassel sat and sewed patiently. She was the picture of tranquility as wisps of her soft brown hair floated on the evening breeze while she sat by an open window. Periodically she lifted her gaze – her eyes a striking shade of icy green like the water of a high mountain lake – to watch her husband and son. Lord Thranduil stood tense and tall as his eyes fixed upon Legolas, who fretted like a caged animal – five paces across the room, a sharp turn, five paces back, and repeat. Worry radiated off of him in waves so strong that Gimli imagined he could almost _see_ them even though Dwarves did not have the same heightened sense of such things that Elves did.

Gimli himself sat, smoking his pipe and watching the three Elves as he pushed aside his own worries about the situation. Isilmei had been so fragile these last weeks. If she did not survive, what would happen to Legolas and Belion? Gimli's knowledge of Elven culture had grown by leaps and bounds since their arrival in Aman, but there were still a lot of things he did not know. He knew that the spirits of deceased Elves passed to the Halls of Mandos in the far west and were eventually released, but when? And how? He understood that there were some who entered the Halls as recently as the Ring War who had already been released, while others had entered more than an age ago and had not yet reappeared. It seemed that the length of time each spirit stayed in the Halls varied, but he was unsure what determined the timespan before one was permitted to leave again.

He sighed as he blew out a series of smoke rings. They were a confusing lot, these Elves, he decided as he watched the rings weave into one another, forming an interlocking pattern. _'Ha!'_ He would have to tell Gandalf he had finally mastered that trick! With a smile he thought that he would also have to show it to Belion because the laddie loved to watch different images form in the smoke. The more complicated the design, the more enthusiastic was the elfling's response. Belion had even asked Gimli to teach him how to smoke so that he could create his own designs, which earned them both a horrified look from the boy's mother and a rapid change of topic.

"How long has it been?" Legolas asked.

His mother smiled. "Since the last time you asked that question? Not quite one turn of the candle."

"Why have we heard nothing from Lord Elrond?"

"Because he is busy, Legolas. Be patient."

Legolas let out a frustrated sigh, his brow wrinkled with anxiety as his dark gaze darted across the room. "Gimli, do you know if Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have arrived yet? She wants them to be here."

Gimli nodded. "The Lord and Lady wait down the hall in their parlor with Isil's parents. Belion is asleep in their bed chamber. We are all of us waiting, lad. There is nothing else we can do now."

Lady Arassel's voice was soothing and confident when she said, "I am sure that Isilmei, Lord Elrond, and Lady Celebrían have the situation well in hand."

"She is frightened," Legolas said as he shook his head, "but I cannot tell if something new is wrong or if her feelings are just an extension of her concern for the twins. Either way, she was not so alarmed when she delivered Belion. And the pain is much worse this time." His expression crumpled. "She is so weak. How can she withstand it all?"

"She will be well," Lady Arassel insisted. "You must have faith."

Legolas stopped his pacing long enough to meet his father's gaze. "Why does she not speak to me? All I can perceive are general impressions and physical sensations. It is as though her mind is clouded. I cannot access her thoughts as clearly as usual."

"Because of the pain, no doubt," his mother said with a raised eyebrow. "Legolas, allow her the room she needs to bring your daughters into the world. I promise you that giving birth to one elfling is no small task. I can only imagine how much more overwhelmed she must feel delivering two."

"Celebrían should be uniquely qualified to help her then," Lord Thranduil reasoned, "being herself the naneth of twins."

Legolas gasped unexpectedly and lurched forward, gripping the mantle to remain upright with one arm while the other clutched his middle. Gimli regained his feet as Lord Thranduil practically leapt across the space between himself and his son and put a supporting arm around Legolas's shoulders. As Lord Thranduil helped Legolas cross the room to sit on a plush couch, Gimli took in the agony in his friend's expression and abandoned his pipe on the end table as he crossed to the lad.

"You have been doing this all night now and it exhausts you. You must pull back, Legolas," Lord Thranduil urged.

Confusion warred with the anguish in Legolas's eyes as he struggled to focus on his father's face. "What?"

"You are too close to her pain," his father explained.

Gimli glanced toward Legolas's mother, unsure of Lord Thranduil's meaning. Her green eyes were wide with sympathy but she said nothing.

"Think, son," Lord Thranduil continued, "when her ordeal is over she will need your help with your infants. If you are worn to exhaustion by allowing yourself to feel every contraction, what use will you be to her?"

"She needs me."

Legolas's voice held an uncharacteristically pleading note that plucked at Gimli's heart. While he did not regret his decision to remain unwed, there had been times when Gimli was with Aragorn and Arwen, or Legolas and Isilmei, or others of his happily coupled friends or relations when witnessing the harmony within the couple made him think that perhaps marriage was more blessing than curse. But in this moment, watching Legolas as he struggled with his wife's suffering and what his own response should be, Gimli felt content in his own choices.

"There is nothing you can do for her now," Lord Thranduil insisted, "but there is plenty she will need you to do for her in coming days. Protect yourself so that you can support your wife when she needs you most. Pull back."

Legolas listened to his father's words, but it was his mother toward whom he glanced for affirmation. She looked at both her husband and her son for a long moment before finally nodding her head.

Legolas glanced back and forth between his parents. "I do not know how."

It was only then that Gimli realized the full extent of what Lord Thranduil suggested. Gimli's brow wrinkled in confusion, for it was his understanding that it was a natural state for Elves to be spiritually united in close marriage bonds. Were his parents seriously suggesting that Legolas remove himself from his bond when his wife was most vulnerable? It was the conflicted look on Legolas's face combining with Gimli's doubts that finally prompted Gimli to speak. "They are very close. Won't she be upset if he…"

"Build a wall between yourself and the pain she feels." Lord Thranduil spoke with absolute authority and as though Gimli had not uttered a word. "Preserve your strength so that you can help her later on."

Something deep in Gimli's gut warned him that this was a terrible idea as he watched Legolas close his eyes and pull in several deep breaths. The lad seemed to focus on something deep within himself for his expression suddenly went blank and still for a long moment before he released a pent-up sigh. Worry still clouded his features, but the intense burst of pain which had doubled him over just a few moments earlier seemed to be gone.

Casting a wary glance between Legolas and his father, Gimli worried. Given Isilmei's delicate state, would Legolas's decision to pull himself away from their bond help him, or hurt her? Or both? If she was harmed, Gimli felt certain that Legolas would eventually be harmed as well.

***/.\***

Dawn approached as Legolas continued to pace about his parents' sitting room. His father's suggestion that he distance himself from Isilmei's pain had spared him the worst of her ordeal, he knew. Yet he had found nothing to do with his reserved energy but worry about how she fared; and without the intimacy of their full connection he had no clear sense of what transpired down the hill in their cottage.

He had tried to send her his love and support without taking on her pain, but found it impossible. He simply could not get through to her without experiencing her suffering. He told himself repeatedly that after the twins were delivered, he would be able to reestablish their connection and was certain that his wife would understand his motives. Her labor had begun during the previous morning, but while dawn approached once more there was still no word. Each turn of the candle twisted his heart tighter as he waited for news.

Just when he was sure that he could stand no more, an elleth of Lord Elrond's household staff appeared and requested that he follow her. Legolas entered his home just in time to see Lord Elrond leave the bedroom.

Legolas's heart clenched at the exhaustion evident in the venerable lord's face. "What has happened? How is she?"

"She is very weak."

"Will she recover?"

"It is too early to say with certainty," Lord Elrond's expression was grim, "but I believe so. You did the right thing to come when you did. The cord had become wrapped around the second little one's neck." At Legolas's gasp of alarm, Lord Elrond held up a steadying hand. "I was able to untangle her, but the processed prolonged Isilmei's labor considerably. I am convinced that if Isilmei had delivered in Ithilien she and your daughter would not have survived. We can only speculate how the other would have fared being separated so violently from her naneth and sister."

"The twins?" Legolas found that his breath was pinched within his chest as though he was suddenly unable to breathe freely. "Are they…?" He could not bring himself to ask if they both survived unscathed.

"They are small but they are healthy," Lord Elrond answered with an encouraging smile. "They will need some extra love and care, but they should be fine."

"A naneth's instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to her young," Lady Celebrían said softly. Until she spoke Legolas had not realized that she had followed her husband out of the bedroom.

"Tell me what to do for my wife," Legolas begged. "I will do anything, anything at all."

"She is asking for you," Lord Elrond said. "Go to her, be with her. Love her. Lend her your strength. She will need your help with the twins. And Legolas," the lord put a hand on Legolas's arm to stop him as he started for the bedroom, "do not let her over-exert herself in the days ahead. It is critical that she allow herself to rest and heal in her body's own time. If she takes on too much too soon, she will impede her own recovery. You _must_ make her understand that she must not exhaust herself, for her body's reserves are badly depleted. If I had not been here to pull her back, she would have passed to Mandos. She will need my assistance in healing herself, and must not take part in the healing of others for a time. She has no strength left for it."

Legolas felt panic rise within his heart as he listened to the elder's words, for it seemed that the situation was every bit as grim as he had feared. His spirit reached out to his wife's but he could feel only a vague sense of pain. Perhaps she was sleeping. He pulled his gaze away from the bedroom door long enough to meet Lord Elrond's fathomless gray eyes. "Thank you. I do not know how to repay you."

The elder gently clasped Legolas's elbow. "We are family. Let us have no talk of repayment."

"Thank you," Legolas repeated with a humble nod. "Isil and I are grateful to you both." He looked at both Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían in turn and was rewarded with one of the lady's beatific smiles.

Legolas entered the bedchamber quietly, his eyes immediately finding his wife. The birthing stool remained next to the back wall, but Isilmei had been moved to the bed. She was so frail that her body was barely noticeable beneath the covers. He was reminded of how she looked when she strayed between worlds in search of _him_ and his heart seized painfully in his chest. He came so close to losing her then. As his stomach turned queasily he realized just how close he had come to losing her again and tried to stifle the surge of fear and anguish before she perceived it. He _must_ find a way to convey only positive emotions and support to her as Lord Elrond suggested. He was not sure how to parse out his emotions that way and contain them, but he must find a way to do it so that Isilmei did not have to bear his burdens while she was so heavily burdened with her own weakened condition.

Now that he was in the room with her he felt her more clearly through their bond, yet as he studied her he realized that he could sense her physical feelings more clearly than those of her heart. And he had no sense of her thoughts, which ordinarily he could sense even as she slept. He wondered briefly if that was due to Isilmei's weakened condition, but brushed the thought away as his spirit reached out to hers and was nearly consumed by a wave of pain and fatigue. Her body screamed in agony, he realized, and yet when she felt the nudge of his fëa reaching out to hers she lifted her eyelids as much as she was able. Her eyes were a pale gray-blue, barely a shadow of their usual brightness, as she struggled to focus on his face.

"Legolas…"

"I am here, love. How do you fare?"

"Better now that you are here." Her voice was a breathy whisper, rough from the cries of labor. "Have you seen them? Are they well?"

Only then did he turn his eyes toward the double cradle that Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had sent. Lady Galadriel and Caladhiel had done a masterful job on the lace, tones of softly shimmering cream and pink combining to represent the dawn-tinged sea foam that Isilmei so loved walking through on bare feet.

Legolas's emotions surged to close his throat as he beheld his infant daughters – so tiny, so fragile, so exquisitely crafted and utterly, completely perfect. They were identical in size but different in coloring and feature. One was the very image of Isilmei remade, slim of limb with long elegant fingers that curled delicately over the top of her swaddling. Her features were her mother's as well, including the fans of dark lashes and the soft dusting of wispy silver hair across the top of her head. The other was clearly his daughter, her complexion slightly darker than her sister's, her grip solid on the edges of her swaddling. An archer's grip. She had more hair than her sister, its tone a bright white-gold that was reminiscent of his own. Both slept soundly, identical expressions of peace and contentment on their sweet faces. They were, quite simply, the most breathtaking creations he had ever seen, aside from the pale elleth lying behind them. And so much more delicate in this moment than their brother had been the night he was born that Legolas was overwhelmed with worry about how he would possibly manage to properly care for, nurture, and protect all three of his girls.

He must not have been able to suppress his fears quickly enough, for Isilmei's tone took on a note of desperation behind him. "Legolas? Are they…" She did not have the strength to finish her question.

He rushed to the bed and sat carefully beside her, afraid that any movement on his part might cause her more suffering. He tried to buffer what she was feeling, but even with the wall he had erected to protect himself he felt the rawness of her wounds with each breath now that he was beside her. "They are perfect, love," he whispered after a deep breath to push away the pain. "And as beautiful as their naneth. They are both sleeping peacefully."

"Good," she whispered as she sank back into the pillow and let her eyes fall shut again. "That is good."

He reached out to gently stroke her hand as it lay on top of the covers. "Which of them was born first?"

"The gold one."

He smiled. "She appears to be the bolder of the two."

"She's the warrior." Isilmei's eyelids cracked open as she gave him a weak smile. "She is your daughter, love."

"And the silver one is yours," he said with a soft smile, raising a hand to stroke her beautiful hair. "She looks just like you."

Her smiled widened a fraction. "Ours. They are both ours."

"I cannot wait for us to watch them thrive and grow," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as he tried not to worry about how broken his wife appeared and how he could possibly manage to raise twin girls without their mother. No. He would not entertain that thought. He simply could not. He could not lose her. She was the other half of his soul. He needed her as much as their daughters did. "I love you, Isil."

When he brushed his hand over hers, she spread her fingers to intertwine them with his and tugged his hand to her lips. She kissed his wedding band which almost made him smile until he noticed that the gesture seemed to exhaust her further. "I love you," she whispered. "Always."

"What can I do to ease your pain?"

"Stay with me. Hold me." She paused to draw in a shallow breath before she could continue. "Assure me we will all be a normal, happy family."

He eased himself fully onto the bed until he was stretched out next to her. When he attempted to slide his arm underneath her head, she cried out in pain. He started to withdraw it until she raised her left hand and clasped his fingers, tugging to indicate she wanted him to complete the gesture. He did so as gently as he could; letting out the breath he had been holding only when she sighed in relief when he had managed to gently surround her with one arm. He was leery of touching her anywhere from neck to hip, so he rested his right hand on her thigh and endeavored to surround her with his body and his love as gently, though completely, as possible.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple, releasing a deep sigh of relief, when he felt the surge of affection and gratitude flowing from her fëa. He would lie this way all day and hold her if it was what she needed him to do.

He thought she had drifted to sleep until she spoke softly. "What shall we name them?"

"We shall think on it when you are stronger," he promised, pressing a kiss to her cheek, another to the tip of her nose, a third to her lips.

"I know their first names come from their adar," Isilmei whispered. After a moment, she drew in enough breath to continue. "But I would like to name them after my grandparents."

"I shall think on it if you will rest, love. When you wake and feel better we shall decide on names that fit them and pay homage to those who raised you."

"I love you," she breathed. He could feel her slipping into reverie and was glad, for she was so fragile she felt like candy glass that would shatter in his arms if he applied too much heat, too much pressure, too much love. He felt lost without her usual quiet strength lying within the circle of his arms.

A few moments after Isilmei had drifted into deep, deep reverie, Lady Celebrían entered the room on silent feet.

Legolas felt the urge to stand, but could not bring himself to remove his arms from his wife. "My Lady," he whispered. "Forgive me if I do not stand."

"Legolas," she said with a quirk of her lips, "I just helped your wife deliver your daughters. She and I are sisters, or nearly so, if not by birth then by heritage. That makes us family, so I insist you dispense with the formalities. It is Celebrían, and Elrond, for that matter, from now on. Is that clear? My husband and I are going to be quite insistent on this point."

He grinned at her, thankful and entirely welcoming of her infectious good humor and charm. He understood entirely where her sons had inherited their sense of fun. "Thank you for everything you have done. I do not know how we would manage without you and…Elrond." It felt…_strange_…to speak of the great lord in such a familiar way even if he was Isilmei's cousin.

Celebrían beamed at him. "It will be such fun to have elflings about," she said as she came round the bed to check on Isilmei. She felt for a pulse and rested her hand upon Isilmei's brow, nodding efficiently before turning toward the cradle. The girls slept on, so Celebrían did not disturb them after watching their breathing for a silent moment. "They are such darling girls. I cannot wait to learn who they are."

"Nor can I," Legolas said, allowing a soft, tenderly aching hope to unfurl within his chest. He could almost picture them in years to come, one silver-haired, the other gold, running across the sand in identical white dresses and bare feet.

His musings were interrupted by Celebrían's gentle hands unfolding a blanket and spreading it over Legolas and his wife. She tucked them both in and turned down the lamp beside the bed. "It has been a trying ordeal for all of you," she said quietly. "Rest for now. When the girls awake ready for their feeding, your wife will need your help handling them both. I will step in when you are ready for assistance." She passed a gentle hand across his brow. "You are a superb adar, Legolas. Your son is proof of that. Trust your instincts, and trust Isilmei's."

Her gentle voice and the quiet peace of the room pulled him under sleep's comforting embrace. "I trust her instincts unreservedly," he said as sleep claimed him.

***/.\***

Golden orange rays of late afternoon light filtered through the window shears when Legolas regained consciousness. He awoke to find Belion standing over the cradle. "What are you doing, son?"

Belion turned to face him and Legolas could see the tattered white blanket in his hands. It was a security item Isil had knitted for Belion when he was an infant. Since then, though the boy had grown and changed in innumerable ways, he had always kept his trusty blanket by his side, refusing to let them dispose of it no matter how big he had gotten or how ratty it had become. Legolas was surprised to see the boy carrying it now for these days it usually remained tucked beneath the covers of Belion's bed. He continued to reach for it at night as he settled down to sleep and Legolas would often find Belion clutching the little blanket to his chest as he slept. He and Isil found it an endearing habit – their son grew so quickly, yet every now and then something would remind them that his tender youth was not yet spent.

When he noticed the roundness of the boy's eyes Legolas smiled reassuringly to let his son know that he was not in trouble. To his dismay Isilmei stirred beside him.

"Belion?" Her voice was weak but she managed to hold out one hand to beckon to their son. The elfling tiptoed around to the side of the bed as though afraid his footsteps would somehow harm his mother.

Isil patted the bed beside her and Legolas extended a hand to help the boy clamber up

without jostling his mother. Belion's blue eyes were wide with concern as he studied her.

"I brought them my blanket," he said as he held it out for them to inspect. "I thought they might sleep better with it so Nana can rest. Grandmother Caladhiel said Nana needs to sleep."

Legolas was touched by his son's generosity, and could tell that Isilmei was as well as she reached out and pulled the boy down to rest his head on her shoulder.

"You are the sweetest boy any parents ever had," she said as she kissed his head. "Thank you for sharing with your sisters."

"Are you all right now, Nana?"

She smiled as she exchanged a glance with her husband. He did not have to be bound to her to know how much she hated worrying their boy or how much she treasured him. "I will be fine, my darling. I promise."

Legolas reached over his wife to stroke the boy's face. He leaned down to kiss Isilmei's forehead as he hugged them both.

"I know you worry that you will argue with them, Belion, and from time to time you might." Isilmei gently smoothed the boy's locks away from his cheek as she spoke in soothing tones. "But how could they not love such a sweet and considerate older brother? They are very fortunate little girls."

As though aware that they were being discussed, the 'fortunate little girls' woke with a snuffling grunt and a surprisingly large sigh. Before Legolas reached the side of the cradle, one of the girls and then the other began to fuss. He lifted the golden daughter, whose voice was more adamant than that of her sister's, with one arm as he stroked the silver daughter's head. The little one in his arms opened her eyes and peered at him, and Legolas felt tears dampen his lashes as she met his gaze. Her newborn eyes did not yet focus clearly, but in that instant he was certain she recognized him. "Hello, little love," he whispered as he kissed her soft brow. Never was there a luckier father, he thought, to have two such glorious daughters, a fine son, and a beautiful wife. He was smiling through his tears as he glanced up and met Isilmei's gaze.

Isilmei struggled to sit, pain clear in her expression as she moved. Legolas crossed back toward the bed with his daughter in one arm as he used the other to help Isilmei prop herself up. Belion did his best to plump his mother's pillows as she came to rest against the headboard. Legolas smiled fondly at his son as he said, "It is time for your sisters to eat, little one. Will you go and see if you can find someone to prepare something so your nana can eat too?"

Happy to have a job, Belion kissed his mother's cheek noisily and hopped off the bed. "I can do that, Ada! There are a lot of people up the hill. I will be right back and then we can all eat together!" He halted his momentum toward the door to turn back and drop his treasure on the edge of the bed. "They can use my blanket while I am gone."

Legolas and Isilmei were both smiling as they watched Belion jog out of the room. He kissed the top of the little one's head as Isilmei opened her gown and raised her arms to accept their daughter. He settled the infant in her mother's embrace and kissed Isilmei's forehead before crossing back to the cradle for the other little one, content to hold one daughter and watch the other nurse. He knew that soon the 'lot of people' would descend upon their cottage and there would be much noise and activity as their families came to inspect the new arrivals. Until then, he would enjoy the simple peace of the moment and the soothing presences of his wife and daughters.

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Yestarë, Part I**

_Not quite a year later…_

He and another ellon watched, captivated, as her lips curved upward in a smile that was both bashful and inviting. "I enjoyed last night."

"As did I," the ellon answered as he reached out to caress the back of her hand. "I feel as though I am truly home now."

Her smile lifted another degree, brightening her face and drawing Haldir's gaze to the height of her cheekbones, the extra fullness of her bottom lip. Her lips looked soft and pink and perfectly smooth. The other ellon looked like he thought so too, and that he was perhaps thinking of kissing her. Haldir's fingers tightened around the handles of his mug so instinctively that he did not realize the motion until he glanced downward, surprised to see how white his knuckles had become.

"May I call on you again?"

"I hope you will," she said as her silver-blue gaze flickered toward his mouth. Was she thinking of kissing him too? Why was that such a distasteful thought?

"Count upon it, fair one. You have my word." There was no doubting the sincerity in the ellon's voice.

Haldir watched. No, he realized, he _glared_, at the scene before him. Glared, and probably scowled. No, not probably – there was _definitely_ scowling in progress. As the younger ellon brushed by him he wondered if his scowl was still as intimidating as it was when he was Marchwarden.

Fixing his sternest expression on the other ellon, Haldir was disappointed to find that the glower seemed to come up short. The ebony-haired ellon smiled benignly at him as he walked by and breezily exited the tavern.

When Haldir turned his gaze once more toward the counter, he found an even more disturbing sight. Yávewen continued to stare after the young ellon even though his shadow no longer darkened the doorway. She seemed – for the first time in their acquaintance – he realized, not to notice Haldir's presence.

Curiously, her father Master Altano most definitely _did_ notice Haldir's presence. Clearly he had seen not only the exchange between his daughter and the other ellon, but knew that Haldir had as well. Master Altano had also taken note of Haldir's reaction to the conversation. Did the vintner look _pleased_?

"He is a fine ellon," Master Altano said with a smile that was anything but benign, "is he not, daughter?"

"Indeed he is, Ada. It is wonderful to have him home." It was only then, when her gaze flickered away from the door and toward her father that Yávewen's attention finally strayed from the lean, dark-headed, and overly-solicitous youth.

"Remind me, where has Nordo been these past years?"

For reasons he could not quite put his finger upon, Haldir suspected that while Master Altano's expression conveyed only polite interest, his question was anything but innocent.

"On the mainland, in Tirion," Yávewen said with a noticeable amount of pride. "He is studying to be a loremaster."

"A prestigious occupation," her father said with a satisfied nod as he paused to shoot Haldir a pointed glance. "Young Nordo seems quite taken with you."

Yávewen's smile lit the tavern. "We had a nice time renewing our friendship yesterday."

A brawny ellon named Carastamo, with whom Haldir had only recently become acquainted, though both were frequent patrons of the tavern, grinned from his seat further down the bar. "Has our little Yávewen chosen a suitor at last?"

Haldir glanced toward the other ellon just in time to catch the knowing look that passed between Carastamo and Yávewen's father, and it was then that Haldir recalled hearing that Master Altano and Carastamo were old and close friends. Clearly Carastamo was in on what everyone but Haldir perceived to be a fine jest and Haldir felt the muscles in his jaw tighten in response.

An ellon notable for his extraordinary height looked up from a nearby table, his slanted grin revealing that he too, was in on the joke. "Typically she keeps them all at bay. We were beginning to think that she would choose a life of solitude over the comforts of home and family."

Yávewen laughed. "You are a fine one to talk of home and family, Liaro, for you spend more time here than you do at home."

Haldir allowed himself a grin at her feisty expression as her comment drew forth a round of laughter from the patrons. Her humor, as it so often did, slowly melted away the sharp edges of his aggravation.

Liaro raised his hands in surrender. "I have two daughters whose attention has become focused upon finding suitable spouses. I love my girls, but there are only so many times an ellon can be expected to find something new and complimentary to say about the hem of a gown or the adornment of one's hair. It is _hair_ – adorn it or not, it makes no difference to me."

"The real reason he is here so often is because he tries to hide the truth from himself," Carastamo put in confidentially. "His little girls will soon be leaving him and he has no idea how he and his wife will occupy themselves in a quiet house."

There was another round of laughter as several other patrons, both male and female, raised a commiserating toast to Liaro's troubles. He chuckled good-naturedly and raised his glass in return salute.

"I raised three daughters. It is true that there is little peace to be found in a house full of ellith," Carastamo quipped.

"Careful what barbed comments you offer about the nature of ellith, old friend," Yávewen said with a wicked grin, "or you shall find yourself thrown out of _this_ house as well as your own."

For the first time since young Nordo entered the tavern, Haldir allowed himself to enjoy the banter and laugh along with Yávewen's joke.

Master Altano smiled broadly as he stacked clean glassware behind the counter. "For any who had not noticed, my daughter attempts to dodge the topic of her choosing a suitor. I, for one, am quite interested in hearing what she has to say on the matter."

Yávewen turned a pert glare upon her father. "Are you truly so eager to marry me off and have me leave you all on your own, Ada?"

The growing pique in her eyes caused her father to cease his teasing, though a glint of humor remained in his rain-colored eyes. "Of course not, my girl. But I would like to meet my grandchildren at some point in the not-too-distant future."

The chorus of good-natured guffaws rising from surrounding patrons did little to camouflage Yávewen's rising irritation. "Ada! Not all of us yearn for the confines of marriage as much as others do."

Haldir could not help noticing the lovely flush of color that rose in her cheeks as a chorus of snickers greeted her comment. Sensing her discomfort, he was about to interrupt with a change of topic – though he had no idea what would provide sufficient distraction – when Yávewen took matters into her own capable hands.

Putting down the carafe she had been clutching, she threw her arms about her father's neck and kissed his cheek before turning once again to the room. "Besides, how could I want for company when I have my ada and all of you to entertain me?"

"To Yávewen," Carastamo said as he lifted his glass. "May life bring you only happiness, my dear, no matter which paths you choose."

Haldir readily joined the toast and was still smiling at her when she finally took notice of him. Yávewen's eyes grew wider as though surprised to see him sitting in his customary place at the bar. As she stepped closer, Haldir struggled again with the jealousy rising in his gut. He reached out and clasped her hand as he tried to keep his tone light. "Obviously the topic of your suitor is of interest to the people of Avallónë."

"There are times when living in a close-knit village is more burden than blessing." She attempted to withdraw her hand, but he clasped her fingers tighter.

"If you do not wish to have a suitor, then send him away." _'Yes,'_ Haldir thought. The more he entertained this line of thinking the more he liked it. "If he fails to abide by your wishes, you have at least one friend who will happily aid you in making your feelings known."

Yávewen studied him for a minute, looking like she was about to take issue with him before her expression changed abruptly and she squeezed his fingers in return. "Peace, Marchwarden. I have not yet made up my mind about Nordo. Not to mention he has not stated that he wants to court me, so my adar's wishful thinking remains just that." A small smile began to lift the corners of her mouth as she gazed once again toward the tavern door. "Nordo is a bit younger than I am, but we were good friends in days gone by. I have missed his company."

"I missed _your_ company yesterday," Haldir said in a low voice, aware of the lingering attention Yávewen received from some of the patrons and not desirous of eavesdroppers. "It was the first time I stopped by the tavern that you were absent."

She arched one elegant eyebrow at him as she deftly removed her hand from his grip and refilled his mug. "Even I am entitled to an occasional day of leisure, Haldir."

"Indeed you are," he smiled as he seized upon the opportunity she presented. Remembering how much fun they had together the day she visited him at his cabin, he asked, "Would you like to try your hand at fishing once more? There is a large school of grouper moving up the coast that I have been tracking for several days. We could…"

As though aware of the nature of the hushed conversation taking place between Haldir and his daughter, Master Altano interrupted just in time to prevent Haldir from further expounding upon his plan. "Yávewen, my dear, we are out of the summer white. Would you mind fetching another carafe from the back?"

Yávewen threw Haldir an apologetic glance as she straightened to her full height and stepped away. "Excuse me."

"Of course," Haldir murmured as he watched her stride away. It had proven to be a most frustrating day. He had grown used to his visits to town providing him with companionship and relaxation. Today, however, failed to meet his expectations. Yet as he sipped his wine, he decided that he was glad he was here to learn of this potential suitor of hers. There was something he did not like about young Nordo, and the youth was no suitable match for Yávewen. And if he had anything to say about it, Haldir was certain that in time he could convince her of Nordo's failings as well…whatever they were.

***/.\***

Yestarë had long been one of Celebrían's favorite holidays. Something about the promise inherent in each new year – as the warm rays of the spring sun coaxed her beloved flowers into blossom – lifted her heart. As Lady of Imladris, she insisted on planning an elaborate celebration each spring, particularly when her elflings had been small. She and Elrond had watched with much joy as first the twins and then Arwen had taken in the new-year spectacle with wide eyes and delighted grins.

Happily, Yestarë received even more wide-spread attention in Aman than it had in Middle-earth. There were some, Celebrían recalled, like disciplined, steadfast Erestor, who believed that such celebrations were in poor taste in days of shadow and would have cancelled all holiday celebrations more often than permitting them. Such Elves had to be nearly dragged into having fun, Celebrían thought, and it saddened her that they failed to see the importance of remembering what was good and pure in the world – of celebrating promise and new beginnings – when times were grim.

But the Elves of Tol Eressëa had no such qualms and since shortly after her arrival Celebrían had eagerly looked forward to participating in the annual celebrations. Finding things to which she could look forward with happy anticipation had been an important part of her healing journey, and she now sought to honor those things in remembrance of trials overcome and injuries healed. Celebrían possessed a thankful heart, and it was important to her to maintain her spirit of gratefulness with the passing of years.

She was happily reviewing her household's preparations for the upcoming holiday as she entered the little beachside cottage through the back door and rapped quietly on Isilmei's chamber door. If she had calculated correctly, it was time for the twins' afternoon feeding. Poor Isilmei had needed much assistance in her husband's absence.

Isilmei's soft voice beckoned as Celebrían pushed open the door. She greeted the younger elleth and busied herself neatening the twins' rumpled blankets as she studied Isilmei. There was no doubt that the delivery of her girls had been hard on Isilmei's body, but it had been nearly a year since they were born and there was little sign of improvement. The elleth propped against the headboard looked thin and utterly exhausted as she held a golden-haired infant to her chest, even though Isilmei often slept for as many hours as her young twins.

Worrying over his wife's condition, combined with his efforts to help her in any way he could think of, had taken their toll on dear Legolas as well. His expression had grown perpetually grim in the days since they settled into the cottage, which tugged at Celebrían's heart. She and Elrond had thought that offering the cottage and their aid to the young family would have provided the extra support Isilmei needed to deliver and recover her strength. Yet Isilmei failed to heal, reaching instead a fragile sort of equilibrium: Her strength was virtually non-existent, and she did not seem to improve from month to month, but nor did she seem to worsen. The dangerous downward spiral her health had taken prior to her labor halted with the births of her twins, yet she should have recovered long before now. As Isilmei's health remained poor, Legolas's condition inevitably began to show the strain under which he lived.

For their parts the girls had gotten off to a bit of a slow start but were now thriving. They remained small and according to their parents were not quite as advanced as their brother had been at their age, but they were healthy. Their increasing vitality had been part of Elrond's motivation in encouraging Legolas to travel with Gimli for a respite before the Yestarë celebrations. The twins would soon be walking, and because of their mother's frail health they would require constant vigilance from their father.

Celebrían agreed with her husband that a short break would be good for the gentle-hearted ellon who wanted so much to aid his wife and felt so maddeningly helpless in the face of her continued struggle. Legolas was tremendously accomplished at nearly everything he had put his hand to, as far as Celebrían could tell: He was a revered warrior, a successful forester, an artisan, a trusted leader of Elves who was also a loving husband and an adoring father. And yet his wife's health was one obstacle he could not surmount. Celebrían easily understood his frustration and knew that her husband did as well; for in their own time, Elrond and Celebrían had faced a similar struggle.

"How is Galadwen's appetite today?" Celebrían asked as she decided to focus on matters at hand.

"Ravenous. If she continues to eat this way no doubt she will soon be taller than her ada." Isilmei laid the little one back on her lap and proffered her index fingers. The infant grinned as she gripped both her mother's hands and pulled herself up to a sitting position before flopping onto her back to start the process all over again. She babbled happily up at her mother, coming very close to managing what sounded like 'up-down' and 'again.' "I think she is finally satisfied."

"Good, because someone else is hungry too," Celebrían cooed as she lifted the younger infant from the cradle. The little one thrust outward with both her feet as though worried her next meal would not be provided. This little one was unusually patient for one so young, but Celebrían could tell she was ready to nurse. "Shh, little Celebel. I am sure your sister left some for you."

Isilmei laughed. "Sometimes I wonder. I worry about being able to feed them both."

"They will soon transition to solid food," Celebrían said as she nestled the infant into her mother's arms and bent further over the bed to lift the elder twin. When her mother turned her attention to Celebel, Galadwen decided to use her mother's sleeve and the top of the headboard to pull herself to a standing position. Celebrían grinned at the little girl as she scooped her up and crossed to the window so Galadwen could look outside.

"Your body can continue to heal when it is no longer called upon to feed two growing girls," Celebrían promised. She rubbed soothing circles on Galadwen's back as the little one pointed at various objects in the yard and attempted to name them. Within a predictably short interval, Galadwen released a healthy burp which drew a chuckle from both ellith. Celebrían glanced up to see Isilmei smiling fondly at her golden daughter as Celebrían lowered her back into her cradle and set it to rocking gently back and forth.

"Your sister has to do everything in such a rush, but you are my sweet girl," Isilmei cooed to the infant in her arms as she nursed contentedly. "Always patiently waiting your turn so Galadwen can go first."

"I am fascinated with the differences among elflings," Celebrían remarked as her gaze fell upon a beautifully carved box resting on a tall chest of drawers close to the bed. "My twins were the opposite of yours. Elladan was the patient one; while Elrohir always had to have his share first as though worried he would somehow be shorted."

"I am intrigued by sibling behavior as well," Isilmei agreed with a grin. "Perhaps it is because we both grew up without siblings that we so closely notice how siblings interact with one another."

"Perhaps," Celebrían said as she inclined her head to one side. "I knew long before I became a naneth that I wanted more than one offspring. Did you think the same?"

"Not really," Isilmei said with a shake of her head as she rearranged Celebel in her arms. "Until Belion was born, that is. Then I felt strongly that I wanted him to grow up with at least one sibling. And Legolas and I both wanted a daughter."

"And so you had one for each of you," Celebrían jested. Her hand brushed over the intricate carving decorating the box's lid. "What a beautiful box."

"Thank you. Legolas made it for me."

She smiled at Isilmei over her shoulder as she admired Legolas's artistry. "He is most talented."

"I think so." Isilmei smiled proudly.

It gladdened Celebrían's heart to see the love shining from the younger elleth's eyes. "We are lucky to have such wonderful husbands who enjoy spoiling us, are we not?"

"Indeed we are."

Celebrían gestured toward the box with one hand. "May I?"

"Of course."

Celebrían breathed in a sigh at the beauty of the first item her gaze fell upon inside the box. She drew out a long, delicate net of pearls and held them up toward the window so that she could admire them. The design was incredibly intricate, pearls of various sizes woven together flawlessly to catch up an elleth's hair in a softly shining web. The largest pearl, shaped like a gorgeous teardrop, was positioned to grace the wearer's forehead. "How beautiful!" Celebrían exclaimed as she looked to Isilmei with wide eyes. "They look to be of our adar's taste. Did he give them to you?"

Isilmei's expression was full of fond memories as she gazed at the net. "On the day I married."

"Pearls for his pearl," Celebrían smiled.

Isilmei's smile broadened until it almost lit her face – it was the widest smile Celebrían had seen from her in some time. "Those were his words."

Celebrían joined Isilmei in smiling at the thought of their father, who was so steadfast and fearless to the outside world but whose heart, to those who knew him best, was ever open, tender, and unfailingly generous. "It will be so wonderful to have them here this Yestarë. Our ada has ever had a taste for jewels, but alas, none of his three ladies has a taste for wearing them."

Isilmei's blue eyes held a speculative look as she met Celebrían's gaze. "Perhaps we could change that during his visit. I know it would please him to see us enjoying his gifts."

"A fine idea, and my thoughts exactly," Celebrían agreed. "We might even gently persuade Nana into doing the same."

Isilmei glanced down to check her daughter's progress and stroked the fine silver-white fuzz dusting the top of the little one's head as Celebrían lifted the next item she saw.

"I know what this is without explanation. My own Lothlorien diadem was nearly identical." She put it down and picked up an unusual necklace next. "This is one of the few pieces I have seen you wear with any frequency, Isil. Tell me its story."

Isilmei sighed wistfully as she regarded the piece. "Gimli crafted it. Legolas had it made shortly before we left Ithilien. The gems at the blossom's heart represent our elflings."

Celebrían nodded thoughtfully, immediately understanding the rest of the design and impressed anew at the affection Legolas so obviously held for Isilmei. "And the golden petals represent him while the silver are for you. Your husband is a most thoughtful ellon, one who is deeply in love with his wife."

"I am blessed beyond what I have earned," Isilmei agreed with a gentle smile. "And I miss him. I have missed them all. I hope they return in time for the festival."

Celebrían returned Isilmei's treasures to their home as she responded. "Did he indicate how many visits they planned to make? I know he had several destinations in mind when they left."

"He took Belion to visit his parents, and then planned to escort Gimli to New Caras Galadhon. They are to return to Avallónë with our parents."

"Good," Celebrían nodded in satisfaction that everyone should reach their intended destinations before the festival began. If only her boys were with them this year, Celebrían thought, her happiness would be complete. Pushing aside the longing that threatened to swell in her heart, she turned her attention back to the events at hand. "Elurín and Caladhiel should arrive by sunset today. And Glorfindel has promised to visit with his family before the end of the festival. I cannot wait for you to meet him. We have much to be thankful for this Yestarë," Celebrían reminded herself. Smiling brightly at Isilmei, she said, "And most of our favorite people will be here with us for the celebration. I cannot think of a better way to start the new year."

Little Celebel had finally taken her fill and was busy grabbing fistfuls of her mother's long hair as Isilmei propped her against one shoulder and rubbed her back. "I would have your advice, Celebrían. For all intents and purposes this will be Belion's first Yestarë here in Aman. I was so sick last year and Legolas was working so hard to settle us into the cottage that we did not take part in any of the celebrations. I would like to make this Yestarë memorable for him. What are your thoughts on involving him in the Giving of Thanks? Do you think him too young to play some small part?"

Celebrían's eyes widened with delight. Belion was adorable, and so intent on doing whatever the adults were doing that it was always great fun including him in as many different activities as possible. "Of course not! That is a fine idea. When the girls are settled for their nap, I will consult Eithedir. We will find some special role for Belion to perform."

After burping cooperatively, Celebel laid her head on her mother's shoulder and with a wide yawn quickly dropped off into reverie. Her sister, by contrast, seemed to have no plans to nap as scheduled. Instead of lying down quietly and settling in, Galadwen had pulled herself to a standing position and was leaning over the edge of the cradle a bit precariously. Celebrían could tell by the lavender shadows growing under Isilmei's eyes that she needed to rest as much as sensible Celebel did, so she lifted Galadwen from the cradle and perched her on one hip.

"This little one is going to be uncooperative, as usual," Celebrían whispered as she settled a blanket around the two sleepy Elves. "I will take her up the hill with me and entertain her until she settles."

Isilmei murmured her thanks but was well on her way to reverie with her silver daughter resting against her chest. Celebrían took a moment to pry Isilmei's long locks loose from Celebel's fists before pulling the draperies over the window and turning to make her way back up the hill.

TBC…

***/.\***


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Yestarë, Part II**

By the time Celebrían reached her home, Galadwen was fussing and fidgeting to the point that Celebrían had to clutch the elfling tighter to avoid dropping her. Galadwen resented the effort at control, large tears gathering in her indigo eyes and threatening to spill down her soft round cheeks. Celebrían ran a soothing hand through Galadwen's tousled golden curls and tutted understandingly. "I know, little one. You are ready to play and you think that your nana and sister should be as well."

Galadwen nodded, her rosy bottom lip puckered into an impressive pout, as though she understood every word. Perhaps, Celebrían thought, she did. Just because the little one could not quite yet carry on a conversation did not mean she was incapable of understanding the world around her.

"What you need to realize, though, is that your nana needs to rest. Celebel is simply keeping her company."

Galadwen looked up at Celebrían as though she somehow doubted her auntie's credibility on the matter. Celebrían tapped the end of the girl's nose with a forefinger, which almost managed to turn her pout into a smile, as they followed the sound of voices coming from the receiving room.

Celebrían entered the spacious, sunlit room to find her parents, Legolas, Gimli, and Belion taking refreshment. Celebrían was delighted to see them all, and as she offered her greetings the little one on her hip began to bounce excitedly and clap her hands when she spied Legolas. Galadwen let out a piercing squeal and stretched out with both arms toward her father as she wriggled against Celebrían's hip.

Legolas's smile lit his face as he set down a crystal goblet and quickly made his way across the room. He lifted his daughter out of Celebrían's arms, pausing to kiss Celebrían's cheek before turning his full attention to his offspring. Legolas and Galadwen shared a particularly close relationship, and now that her father had her safely in his strong arms, the little one settled contentedly, babbling to her father about the events of her day. He obliged by pretending to understand every word as he showered her face with kisses.

"Auntie Brían!" Belion greeted as he launched his small frame into her arms. "Guess what? We had a wonderful trip. There were so many things to see and I have to tell you about all of them! And guess what else?"

Celebrían laughed at his breathless exuberance, rising from his embrace to hug and swap quiet words of greeting with her parents and Gimli as Belion continued his excited recitation.

"Mithrandir is coming for Yestarë! And he promised to bring fireworks!"

Celebrían laughed at the youngling's infectious enthusiasm. "How wonderful! I am certain the Shirefolk will be as excited about this development as you are."

Belion paused, tilting his head to one side, as though he had not thought of the Shirefolk. He beamed at the prospect of a fresh audience for his news. "I should tell them! But first I should tell Nana. She likes Mithrandir too." Belion looked behind Celebrían as though expecting his mother to materialize in the wide, arching doorway. His expression drooped when Isilmei failed to appear. "Where is Nana?"

Celebrían smiled tenderly at the elfling as she cupped the side of his face with one hand. "She is sound asleep, little one, but I know she will be very happy to see you when she wakes. She has missed you."

"Ai," Belion sighed. "Well, then…" Celebrían's heart went out to the boy – his disappointment at not being able to see his mother when he wanted left him at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Gimli stood and reached for Belion's hand. "Come on, Laddie. Let's see if the Hobbits are in the garden. We can watch for Gandalf's approach together and you can tell them about the fireworks." Belion's expression brightened somewhat as he slipped his small hand into the Dwarf's sturdy palm and the two of them left the room.

"He grows so quickly," Celebrían's mother remarked as she watched the pair depart. "When the twins were born Belion barely reached Gimli's waist and now he reaches his shoulder."

"Living in the Blessed Realm is good for him," Celebrían agreed. She felt the eyes of the other three adults in the room upon her as she poured a goblet of sweet wine and lifted it to her lips. She met Legolas's gaze first as he watched her over his daughter's golden curls.

"How is she?"

"The same," Celebrían said apologetically. She had hoped to have good news to report to Legolas upon his return, but would not pretend that the situation was any better than it truly was.

Legolas sighed, kissing his daughter's forehead when she raised a chubby hand to his face and gently patted his cheek. "Celebel?"

"Just fine. She is more cooperative at naptime than this little one and remains with her naneth. They were both asleep when I left them."

Celebrían watched as her mother sat beside Legolas on the divan and began to play with her small namesake. Galadwen was immediately fascinated by her grandmother's long golden hair and reached for it with both hands. Legolas passed the girl off to her grandmother and within a few moments her grandfather had joined in the game and Galadwen was crawling across both their laps. They had not seen the twins since shortly after they were born and marveled out loud at Galadwen's beauty and obvious health.

Legolas rose to retrieve his beverage as his anxious eyes returned to Celebrían. "Has Elrond any new ideas about what delays her recovery?"

Celebrían shook her head for she was not certain what to tell him. "He is still studying and still experimenting with his herbal concoctions. Perhaps she just needs _more_ time."

"Is she still too thin?"

"She has very little appetite," Celebrían reported. "She eats enough to nourish the twins, but not herself. Many days we have to beg her to eat."

Her father's deep voice drifted across the room as he simultaneously played with the little one trying to remove his circlet and monitored the adult conversation. "Does she sleep?"

"She naps more often than the twins do, Ada. Yet no matter how much she sleeps she is always tired." Celebrían inclined her head in a gesture that hinted at her frustration. She knew how protective her father was of his girls and that Legolas was not the only one worried about Isilmei's health. Their parents worried too. "Elrond said it would take longer than normal for her to recover, but the twins approach their first begetting day. We are uncertain what ails her."

Legolas's expression was glum. "I should not have left."

"She is well tended, Legolas, and the strain of your family's ordeal has taken its toll on you as well." Celebrían clasped his arm in support. "You deserved a respite, and Elrond and I are happy to help. Belion seemed to indicate that you had a nice trip, and for that I am glad." She smiled at him before turning doting eyes on Galadwen, who after successfully divesting her grandfather of his circlet had moved on to removing the jeweled pins holding back her grandmother's shining hair. "We are having a wonderful time enjoying these fine daughters of yours. There are several members of our household who would spoil them beyond tolerance if allowed free reign to do so."

"This one has some fire in her," Celebrían's mother observed. "Has she begun to reveal the nature of her talent?"

Legolas's gaze sharpened as he turned to Celebrían.

"No," she answered. "Isil and I are hopeful that you might receive some insight during your visit, Naneth."

"Does the younger twin share her sister's zeal?" her father asked.

Celebrían shook her head, but it was Legolas who answered. "Celebel possesses a gentler disposition than her sister. She is reliably smiling and even-tempered."

"That sounds familiar," Celebrían's father said as he looked at his wife.

Celebrían watched her mother smile fondly. "Isil was much the same as a youngling."

"Celebel is a delight to care for, but she prefers her naneth's company above all others," Celebrían said. "In fact, she often seems reluctant to leave her naneth's side."

"I am reminded of the way Pearl used to cling to your robes, Celeborn. She preferred sitting through a council meeting to being without you when she was small." Her mother's eyes crinkled in mirth as she regarded her husband.

His smile was warm with memory. "Had she been mature enough to understand the matters we discussed she would have been the best informed elfling in all of Arda."

"There _must_ be some way to help her recover her health," Legolas said, effectively bringing the light-hearted moment to an end.

Her parents exchanged a long, serious look that Celebrían recognized from past experience before her father spoke. "It sounds like she suffers as one who has survived the severing of the marriage bond."

"Yes," his wife agreed. "There is a weariness often assumed just before a bereaved spouse seeks the Gardens of Lòrien.1 It sounds as if Isilmei wears that look." As his frown deepened, she reached out to place a reassuring hand on her husband's shoulder. "Though of course we cannot be certain until we see her."

Legolas's jaw dropped open in surprise. "But I am right here! I was only gone a month and she was like this before I left!"

"I know," Celebrían's mother said as she slid her hair pins into Galadwen's curls. Her words were serious, but she kept her tone light so as not to upset the little one who finally seemed to notice how somber the adults had become. "I meant only that it seems she is worn and wearied in much the same way. I certainly hope there is a simpler explanation."

Celebrían watched as Legolas gazed thoughtfully at her father for a long moment. "Could this have anything to do with her journey through the Shadowlands?" he finally asked.

"I do not believe so, Legolas," he answered with a shake of his silver head.

The conversational turn piqued Celebrían's interest for clearly there was a tale or two she had not yet heard. Would this knowledge aid Elrond in his search for a cure? Why had she not heard of this before?

"The elleth standing beside you during your binding ceremony glowed with happiness and good health. She seemed quite herself." Her father's gaze grew distant for a moment as though he relived old memories. "And when I stayed with you in Ithilien shortly before sailing, she was more radiant than I had ever seen her – vigorous and laughing and full of life. No, I think if she carried some residual after effect of her spirit journey, it would have manifested before now."

While Galadwen patted the jewels in her hair and grinned widely, her grandmother studied Legolas. "Did she suffer this way with Belion?"

Legolas's golden hair shifted on his shoulders as he shook his head. "Not at all. She responded just as the other ellith in the community who gave birth did. Within a couple of days, one would not have realized she had delivered without seeing the newborn in her arms."

"I am reminded of the tale of Míriel," Celebrían's mother said softly, "who was so wearied by the birth of Fëanor that she chose to give up her hröa and go to the Halls of Mandos2."

Legolas paled visibly. "Do you think she…"

Celebrían's mother raised a hand in a placating gesture, only to have it met with a resounding smack by the little one in her lap. Galadwen laughed happily at the noise she had made as her grandmother spoke. "Peace, Legolas. I cannot foresee any circumstances that would prompt Isil to leave you and your young. She loves you too much. I was referring to the descriptions of her appearance and behavior. I cannot know more until I have seen her, and perhaps such speculation on our part is unwise until then."

Celebrían decided that it was time for Galadwen to become otherwise occupied so that the adults could carry on their conversation in peace. She stepped forward to retrieve the girl and deposit her on the floor. As soon as she reached the rug, Galadwen was off, crawling quickly down the length of the salon and then back again when she realized no one gave chase.

Celebrían's father looked grim. "A normal pregnancy and delivery, even of more than one elfling, should not have taxed her so. Twins are not uncommon in our family, after all, and her adar was himself a twin. Our Celebrían gave birth to twins and recovered within a few days."

"I know not what to do," Legolas said with a shake of his head.

"Elrond _said_ he would look after her…"

"He _is_," Celebrian insisted as she interrupted her father. "We _both_ are." It annoyed her that her father seemed to doubt Elrond's abilities. But, she reflected sadly, they had faced a similar situation before. Her parents had expressed a great deal of frustration – though only when they thought she was not listening – when she failed to heal after her attack. She knew that her husband had done all in his considerable powers to heal her, in spite of his own pain and uncertainty during that black time and his exhaustive efforts to care for their offspring. Their young – especially the twins who had seen so much more than they ever should have been forced to witness – had needed _both_ their parents, but Celebrían had been unable to help them. Elrond had driven himself to the point of exhaustion trying to be everything that they all needed him to be.

It was because they understood something of the challenges that Legolas and his family faced, as well as the family ties among them, that Celebrían and Elrond wanted so much to help. And she knew her parents were well aware of Elrond's many talents – her father's doubts sprang only from his worries for Isilmei. But still, it irked Celebrían to hear any expression of doubt toward her husband. In her own way she was as fiercely protective of him as he had always been of her.

As Celebrían struggled to control her impulse to scold her father for his seeming lack of faith, Galadwen crawled to Legolas and used his leg for leverage as she pulled herself upright. With one arm she reached upward as the other wrapped around his knee for stability. "Up, Ada."

Legolas seemed nearly brought to tears in that moment, for when he left the twins had not yet been able to string together even the most basic sentence. "Yes, my lady," he said as he lifted her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Celebrían saw something flit across Galadwen's round face – something that almost looked like a flash of sympathy. She wrapped her small arms around her father's neck and hugged him back, laying her head on his sturdy shoulder before yawning and relaxing against his chest.

"I believe she is ready for her nap now," Legolas said quietly as he rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back. "Please excuse me while I put her to bed."

Celebrían watched him go, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly along with her residual irritation with her father. Her parents were so busy with their duties and travels that she did not get to see them as often as she wished. She was determined that their visit would be a pleasant one. Putting on a smile, she turned back to join her parents on the divan and tell them all about the plans she had made for the upcoming festival.

***/.\***

_A few nights later…_

Hundreds of tiny lanterns hung from the town's rooftops over the streets, drifting on a mild breeze like fireflies over revelers' heads and casting a warm golden glow on the town's cobblestone streets. At one end of the street, near the fountain that dominated the town square, musicians played a lively tune. Yávewen smiled as the melody lifted her heart and promised to set her toes tapping as soon as she stopped her leisurely stroll.

Nordo spent part of the previous evening telling her about the Yestarë traditions observed by Tirion's Noldor population. While the elaborate ceremonies sounded lovely and appropriately reverent, she decided as she took in the sights and sounds that she preferred Avallónë's celebration over any fancy affair in some large, distant city. Some small part of her yearned to broaden her horizons, but her heart would ever belong to this small coastal town.

The several days preceding Yestarë were always busy ones in the tavern, each growing more hectic than the one before it until the night of the festival. As the moon rose, the citizens of Avallónë – as well as those who lived in the hills above town – converged on the square for feasting, singing, and dancing. Only after everyone had danced themselves to weariness would the storytelling begin, with gifted loremasters and poets entertaining audiences well into morning.

Yávewen made her way slowly through the crowd, stopping frequently to greet friends and acquaintances, as she looked for Nordo. He left the tavern ahead of her to ensure he would be added to the evening's list of speakers but had not yet returned as promised. As her eyes scanned the crowd for his tall, slender form and handsome face, an unsettling mix of emotions fluttered through her heart.

Since his return to Tol Eressëa, she had seen Nordo at least once per day. Her father had made his support for the budding relationship clear, taking on her chores so that she had free time to ramble about town and down to the harbor with her new suitor. As Yávewen spent time with Nordo, she was reminded of all the reasons why they had been such good friends in their youth. He had been gone for years, but was much the same – funny, endearingly enthusiastic about his many academic interests, eager to share his knowledge, and just as eager to hear her thoughts. His time in Tirion had been good for him, she thought. Gone was the awkward shyness of his youth. The ellon who returned to Avallónë had grown comfortable both with his lanky frame and his intellectual prowess. His newfound confidence was decidedly attractive.

There was much about Nordo she admired, and Yávewen could easily see why her father was so eager to see her paired with him. And yet, something deep inside Yávewen's heart hesitated. The pace of their romance seemed hurried, and she did not wish to rush into such an important decision. Nordo made no secret that he planned to return to his studies in Tirion, and as much as Yávewen knew she would miss him, she could not fathom leaving behind everything and everyone she knew to travel with him. If she ever chose to visit Nordo in Tirion, she knew that it would only be a _short_ visit. How could they possibly hope to pursue a romantic relationship when so many leagues separated them?

Yávewen frowned, a quiet little voice in the back of her mind reminding her that there were other reasons why she hesitated to let Nordo fully into her heart. She was all her father had – Yávewen's mother had left shortly after giving birth and her father had raised her by himself. They had always been close and she could not imagine being far away from him. Who would keep him company after the tavern closed for the evening? Who would help him tend the vines and take care of their home if she left the island? True, her father had many friends, but who among them could possibly love him as much as she did?

And then there was that other reason, standing tall and broad-shouldered as he watched the musicians. All Yávewen knew for certain was that her life had become entangled with Haldir's, though she did not understand how fully or what implications would make themselves known over time. Nordo's companionship had provided a pleasant distraction from the combined hope, frustration, and longing that Haldir summoned forth within Yávewen's heart, but she knew that sooner or later she would have to confront her feelings for Haldir and sort them through. She would not wound Nordo by entering into an official courtship with him until she was certain her heart was free to do so.

Haldir stood beside another ellon, one Yávewen recognized as an infrequent visitor to town. The ellon's name was Orelion and she understood that he was another former resident of Lothlorien. Beyond that, she knew little about him other than that he was wed and that he preferred red wine over white.

As Yávewen contemplated whether or not to approach Haldir, he looked up and spotted her. A smile lit his strong features as he nodded and lifted a hand in greeting. Yávewen took a deep breath and summoned a polite smile as she approached the two ellyn. They were deep in conversation when she reached them.

"Four sons? Four?" Orelion's voice revealed his surprise and caused Haldir to laugh.

"I find it hard to believe myself," Haldir said with a smile.

"I always imagined Rúmil would remain single. He was so focused upon his duty that he hardly seemed aware of Lorien's ellith."

Haldir grinned at Yávewen, his silver eyes bright with mirth. "Love can yield a power too strong to ignore, I suppose. What say you, Yávewen?"

She wondered briefly if he somehow knew the nature of her thoughts as she had made her way through the crowd to his side. She could not be that transparent, could she? "About what?" she finally managed. "Love's power over the heart, or the size of your brother's family?"

"Do you believe that love can dominate the heart so completely that one will change one's very nature to capture and maintain it?"

She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair and the tips of her ears to be having this conversation with Haldir. It was the kind of broad, musing question she would have been happy to discuss with Nordo for many turns of the candle, but talking about matters of the heart with Haldir somehow set her nerves on edge. "If the love is strong and pure, I suppose it can." Her voice grew increasingly strained as she spoke. "If it is the right love, then the changes you mention would be to the benefit of the lover, would they not?"

Haldir's eyes narrowed as he seemed to finally take in her disquiet. He drew in a breath as though he meant to speak and Yávewen cringed inwardly for she was certain that whatever he said would hit too close to the mark for comfort.

Thankfully, Orelion saved her from Haldir's query as he gazed across the crowd. "I was unschooled in the power of love myself until I met my wife. But as soon as I met her, I knew that she would change my life forever."

In the moment of silence among the three of them that followed Orelion's comment, Yávewen turned her face to follow his line of sight. A tall, willowy elleth with hair as black as night approached. The elleth's eyes were locked on Orelion and the two of them gazed at one another as though they were the only two beings in town. Yávewen's heart gave a tender thump at the pure, unquestionable adoration between the two of them and could not help wondering if her life would be richer had she someone to love so intensely.

Her ruminations were interrupted when Haldir slid an arm around her waist. Yávewen gasped, her eyes wide with surprise, as she looked up into his glowing expression. "Enough talk. We will have no more companionship out of those two this evening. Dance with me."

She could not help the nervous giggle that bubbled forth but willingly followed him into the crowd of dancers. The tune and song were widely popular among all the Eldar, as common in Middle-earth as it was here in Aman, so they had no trouble navigating the steps even though they had never before danced together. Yávewen reveled in the feeling of dancing with Haldir for his body was strong and tall and his steps, for such an imposing figure, were light and quick. His arms around her were warm and steady, applying enough pressure to make her feel secure without gripping her too tightly.

Their conversation, thoughts of love, her emotional tangle concerning Haldir, and the merry pace of the dance combined to set Yávewen's head awhirl. She gripped him a bit tighter to avoid stumbling as the song drew to a close.

The musicians seamlessly blended one tune into the next, but Yávewen and her dancing partner were unable to make the transition as smoothly. The new piece was one native to Avallónë. She tried to hint at the steps but Haldir was unable to follow and she could not help chuckling at him when he missed a step. When he frowned at her, she attempted to soften the blow of her nervous laughter. "Finally something at which you do not excel. I was beginning to think you impossibly perfect."

"I will have you know that I am an excellent dancer." He arched one eyebrow and his tone became decidedly haughty as he spoke, but Yávewen could see the self-deprecating mirth that lay just under his cool surface.

"Clearly," she said as she stifled another giggle. "Perhaps it is time you followed my lead for a while."

Haldir gave a small bow and tried, unsuccessfully, to adopt a serious expression. "I am your humble student, my lady."

She grinned, taking him by the hand and pulling him off to one side of the dancing crowd long enough to demonstrate the proper steps. Haldir proved an able student, quickly mastering the steps so that they could rejoin the other revelers.

Yávewen fought the urge to hold her breath as she allowed herself to be swept along the merry tide of celebration. There was something about this ellon to which she was irresistibly drawn. If only she could figure out exactly what it was then she surely she would be able to decide whether to give in to it or spurn it forever.

She wondered if Haldir noticed how well they fit together – she was just short enough that the top of her head reached his chin yet she had no trouble keeping up with his long-legged stride as they danced across the square. When she glanced up at him she found him watching her and another flush rose to her cheeks. His silver eyes were warm with affection and happiness, and her heart swelled with joy in response. It was the happiest she had seen him in some time and she reveled in his carefree joy, fleeting though she somehow knew it would be.

She was about to tell him how much his happiness pleased her when a shrieking whistle sounded from some distance away and was quickly followed by a loud boom. Most of the dancing couples paused as they looked around in confusion, which was quickly dispelled when bursts of color flared into the night sky from the hills above town. A spike of orange was followed by another whistle as a shimmering green flower blossomed across the sky.

Yávewen gripped Haldir's upper arms in excitement, exchanging a smile with him as she watched the continuing cascade of colors and shapes.

Another reveler within earshot asked, "Who do you suppose is putting on the display?"

"That is the direction of Lord Elrond's estate," someone else answered.

Yávewen's eyes were too riveted to the bright cascade of colors for her to bother identifying the speakers, but she glanced at Haldir just in time to catch the change in his expression. Pain flashed across his eyes, accompanied by a soft longing.

"I am glad," he said quietly. "She has always loved fireworks."

Yávewen felt stung by his words, recoiling out of his arms as though he had burned her. The reminder of his own romantic entanglement – which did not include Yávewen herself – dispelled her happy mood and she found herself devoid of any desire to be in this ellon's presence one moment more. She was a fool, just as her father had worried she would be. Shame heated her cheeks and tears threatened to crowd behind her eyelids, but she refused to let Haldir know how deeply his words hurt her.

She glanced up briefly, turning her eyes away from him when she saw the surprise and concern in his expression. The last thing she wanted in that moment was his concern. Or his pity. "Nordo is surely looking for me." Without a backward glance, she walked away just as quickly as her legs would carry her.

TBC…

***/.\***

1"Irmo the younger is the master of visions and dreams. In Lòrien are his gardens in the land of the Valar, and they are the fairest of all places in the world, filled with many spirits. Estë the gentle, healer of hurts and of weariness, is his spouse. Grey is her raiment, and rest is her gift…all those who dwell in Valinor draw refreshment; and often the Valar come themselves to Lòrien and there find repose and easing of the burdens of Arda" (_The Silmarillion_, pg. 42).

2 "In that time was born in Eldamar, in the house of the King of Tirion upon the crown of Túna, the eldest of the sons of Finwë, and the most beloved. Curufinwë was his name, but by his mother he was called Fëanor, Spirit of Fire; and thus he is remembered in all the tales of the Noldor.

Míriel was the name of his mother…[t]he love of Finwë and Míriel was great and glad [b]ut in the bearing of her son Míriel was consumed in spirit and body; and after his birth she yearned for release from the living. And when she had named him, she said to Finwë; 'Never again shall I bear child; for strength that would have nourished the life of many has gone forth into Fëanor.'

Then Finwë was grieved…and he said: 'Surely there is healing in Aman? Here all weariness can find rest.' But when Míriel languished still, Finwë sought the counsel of Manwë, and Manwë delivered her to the care of Irmo in Lòrien. At their parting (for a little while as he thought) Finwë was sad, for it seemed an unhappy chance that the mother should depart and miss the beginning at least of the childhood days of her son.

'It is indeed unhappy,' said Míriel, 'and I would weep, if I were not so weary. But hold me blameless in this, and in all that may come after.'

She went then to the gardens of Lòrien and lay down to sleep; but though she seemed to sleep, her spirit indeed departed from her body, and passed in silence to the halls of Mandos…[t]hen Finwë lived in sorrow; and he went often to the gardens of Lòrien, and sitting beneath the silver willows beside the body of his wife he called her by her names. But it was unavailing; and alone in all the Blessed Realm he was deprived of joy. After a while he went to Lòrien no more" (_The Silmarillion_, pg. 80).


End file.
